


we float before the sea at dusk

by Madame la Problématique (callmearcturus)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Culture and Science, Alien Planets and Xenobiology, Alternate Universe, And basically enslave them? Its a gentle enslavement but still, Body Modification, Definitely Bad End, Hypnotism, M/M, MerMay 2018, Mind Control, Soft Bad End: The Aliens Conquer The Invaders, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-05-07 01:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 119,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14660565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/Madame%20la%20Probl%C3%A9matique
Summary: Jake English is a minor celebrity of the sublight net who often goes on intragalactic adventures to amazing locales to share his excursions with his lovely followers. It can be very good press for new interstellar tourist traps, so he's used to being hired to check out new vacation spots.When his old friend Jane hires him, Jake winds up on Alcyone to promote the new resort CrockerCorp has opened there. There's but one small, remarkable detail about the planet: it's covered entirely in breathable liquid.It would make a perfect tourist trap. Shame it's already inhabited.(A very weird AU, in which humans try to settle a big waterworld to build a tourist hotspot, and the native mers enact castle doctrine.)





	1. settle up into a world of noise

**Author's Note:**

> Sup everyone. I accidentally started a MerMay story.
> 
> I'm gonna frontload this fic with a warning that doubles as a major story spoiler, but you should know: The basic concept of the story is a bunch of humans and trolls settle on a world, assume it's not inhabited, and wind up being super duper wrong, and the natives decide to keep the visitors. The tone is very strongly weird kink and a lot of delving into what a truly alien culture would make of hypno-susceptible humans.
> 
> If that is not your jam, feel free to smash that back button and enjoy your day.
> 
> If not, welcome to Alcyone.

The feed was more jumpy than any regular viewer had seen before, both from this host and from anyone else. People who made a living shooting footage like this learned to be an adept hand at camera work, the art of framing a shot and keeping the view steady. As this footage was so different, so incongruous to standard streaming practices, it was almost compelling. It was a glimpse of rawness that had been nearly exorcised from the medium a long time ago.

The view swung in a way that made some of the audience queasy before it shifted and focused on a familiar face. Jake English, MySpace superstar, explorer of the great unknown, grinned down into the camera, seeming to make direct eye contact with every lucky soul tuned in.

"Listen, it's a helter skelter ride to be sure, and they told me not to put the cam on until we landed. That whole kit and caboodle about keeping things stowed in the overheads, but!" His voice was pitched low, whispery but excited, palpably thrilled about something. His hand touched the aperture awkwardly as he tilted his camera to look over his shoulder.

There was a perfectly circular viewport behind him. It wasn't the normal view of the inky expanse of space, as it had been last time he'd streamed. This time, it was a planet. Hurtling below the ship was a planet that shone like rippled glass; sunlight reflected off the water in rich hues of cerulean and amethyst and pale jade. It seemed to overlap and spill over itself, never remaining one color for more than a few seconds.

In front of the window, Jake pulled an enormous grin, teeth gleaming and perfect. "Special report from Alcyone! Have you heard of it? It's this _weird_ little world out on the Olympia Disk, like a week out from Leda?"

The water seemed endless, and the more astute followers could not help but notice a definite lack of landmass visible. Just more shifting gleaming water.

As if the shaking view were not enough of an artifact, more cropped up as the stream continued. Jumps in the footage, moments stretching with Jake's face frozen in his warm, handsome smile, the video seemed to be falling apart in a manner nearly unheard of in modern communications. And certainly not from such an accomplished star!

The stream jolted back into motion, changing Jake's rictus-like smile into a concerned frown. "Oh hellweather, I'm dropping frames everywhere. They did warn me th--"

The footage froze, then jumped back a solid fifteen seconds later.

"--ight, just gonna have to upload full vids for the time--"

Cut. Strange jagged boxes washed over the stream like a glitchy flood.

It did not resolve into the host's face again, but through a tin can-distortion, Jake said, "I'll update soon, belles and beaus and all! I'll--"

Transmission lost.

 

* * *

 

You have no one to blame but yourself; Jane _did_ warn you about the strange properties of Alcyone. It was quite a pill to swallow, the very idea of it! With your humble little show you host to a few dozens of millions of viewers on the reg, you're no stranger to this sort of deal. Plenty of shiny new interstellar resorts and newfound stardecks were willing to pay you to come out and have a good time, and all you have to do in return is film some of your exploits and talk up the place a bit!

Being sent to a planet that couldn't handle sublight streaming video is a new one. Yet, here you are, because Jane was a dear and asked so nicely.

Not that you aren't excited! There's not a lot publicly known about Alcyone; in fact, you could list everything you know about it in the margins of your in-flight menu. It's some longterm research facility on an enormous naturally formed waterworld. There's something hinky about the water down there, which is the only reason the Alternians haven't bought it as yet another coolblood vacation planet.

That… was about all you knew when Jane sent you a formal business inquiry. Now, you are rocketing through atmo, slowing and sinking down further and further, heading straight for the Calypso Observation Outpost.

When you sat down to talk brass tacks with her, Jane said, "Coop, we want to call it the Coop, make the P in Outpost part of it. Please make sure you call it that on vid."

Apparently that memo didn't make it to everyone. As you sail through Alcyone's skies, the pilot tells you over the comms, "Touchdown at the COO in five minutes, please secure yourselves for landing."

You can see your smile in the slight reflection of your window as you stare out over the endless water, your hands running idly along your camera's carapace. Given its size, you should really stow it… but you've filmed so many trips with good old Terrybot, you can't imagine him hurting you now. Not so much as a bop on your chin during the worst of turbulence, no sir! A SkaiaNet FollowCam Mobile Assistant is a friend for life!

It's also something to hug to your chest as your heart flips in your chest, that very unique sensation of the inertial dampeners doing their job as the shuttle speed throttles all the way back. You know without it your insides would be mush, but that never stops it from feeling suspiciously like being drunk.

The cool hard shell of Terrybot feels good against your stomach. You drum your fingers on it and wait for landing.

 

* * *

 

The Calypso Observation Outpost does not look like the tourist trap that CrockerCorp wants it to be. You have been to levitating cities and hotels anchored to the seabed. Once, you spent a week at a villa attached to a comet; the way chunks of ice bounced off the barrier and sent impact zones of frost flashing across the sky was one of the most amazing sights you'd ever seen.

The COO is not so impressive. It's easy to see how it's been retrofit, a remote science platform adapted to be hospitable to tourists and visitors.

The body of the COO is a cluster of floating buildings, each rounded and short, like a pile of river stones peeking out of the ocean. Between all of them are bridges, like a net linking all of them all together. Everything is uniform, and frankly kind of boring; the shiny moonstone-pale shell probably generates solar energy and that's all very practical, but it reminds you a bit of a medical center.

However, the space _between_ the bridges and the buildings.

As you carry your kit towards the hotel, you slow to a stop, gaze sinking away and out over the water.

It's what you assume is midday, the sunlight making the COO shine like a brand new button. And yet still you can see _something_ under the waves that lap against the rounded base. Through the translucent, shifting ocean you can see what you can only assume is a surrounding reef. It's flooded with colors, neon and warm as old firelight, reaching up through the surface.

What's even more affecting is the number of people drifting around! Mostly humans, since this is a human-found planet, and all dressed in their wetsuits and bikinis and altogether, swimming around. They're like ice cubes floating in a lurid punch bowl, and quite merry about it.

It takes you a not insignificant amount of effort to continue on, to the Bubble, the ritzy hotel you're going to be put up in. Excitement fizzes in your stomach, like it always does when you reach a new enchanting locale amidst the stars.

The Bubble is… fine. Reception greets you on sight and has your room all ready for you the moment you walk in; you think either Jane sent word ahead or maybe they just don't have too many visitors yet. That is what you're here to help with after all.

Given the circular nature of just about everything here, you're not shocked to find your suite is shaped a little like a pie piece, with the door awkwardly situated right at the first little triangular bite. You can forgive the bland architecture-- an uncouth gentleperson would call you a snob, but you can't help comparing it a little unfavorably to the many starry and storied points in your long itinerary.

 _But_ the view is worth it. The entire outer graham cracker crust of your new digs is a window, currently tipped just open enough so you can feel the breeze rolling in. Outside is Alcyone. The scenic view is so flat, you think you can see the very faint curvature of this planet, though you think it's technically too large for that?

But its like looking down at an aquarium, teeming with light and adventure as far as you can see.

You drop your bag on the floor and set Terrybot gingerly on the bed, then walk over to press your hands against the window.

This, right here, is your _job_. Your honest-to-Pete occupation is being treated to a, well, mediocre room but also an exciting new planet.

Back on the orbital station, before you boarded the shuttle down to Alcyone proper, Jane gave you a nearly smug smile, something Cheshire to her features. "I haven't told you the best part," she said. "On Alcyone, you can breathe underwater. No rebreathers, no tanks."

"You're pulling my tail, Miss Crocker," you said indignantly back. If there was such a thing, you would have heard of it already. Weird adventures across the far reaches of space were your bread and butter and jam.

But she grinned. "Please, enjoy your stay. I'll be sure to tune in when I can," she told you with a wink.

Now, as you look at the unending ocean, you think maybe you believe her.

First thing's first: you are going for a dip, post haste!

 

* * *

 

Jake English squinted into the camera before letting out a truly over the top pout, his lower lip jutting in a childish display. "You will not _believe_ this, but I'm not allowed to go swimming!" He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the open window of his hotel suite and the ocean beyond. "Look at that! It's wetter than a seadweller's basement, but no water wings allowed!"

He sighed loudly, and let the pout slip into a smile. "Not off to a grand start, am I? Where's my head at! Welcome to my show, be you a longtime listener or first time comer! I'm thrilled to have you checking out my modest corner of the MySpace. Here, we have a whale of a time exploring all the most exciting spots scattered across the planets and stars. I think of it as sort of education-adjacent." He grinned wickedly. "You're sure to learn something!

"Anyway, I've got my shoes kicked off here on Alcyone. The room is certainly spiffy and the view is top notch… but I'm not let to go swimming!" He let out an annoyed raspberry noise through his pursed lips and waved a hand through the air. "It's not _that_ dire, I'm just being a numpty about it. According to my fine hosts, you have to go through three safety classes before they swing you out into the water. Because… apparently it's not water?" Here, Jake picked up a brochure node from his knee and flashed it at the camera. "They're calling it soma, and it's a miracle substance of some kind. I don't have the nuts and bolts of it down, but that'll come with the classes, apparently!"

He leaned back on his arms on the bed, casting a glance at the camera over his glasses. "It's all dreadfully exciting. But I won't be able to update you all on my progress right away. Alcyone's sublight connection…. well, it's a vacation planet! The point is to unplug for a spell and recharge your metaphysical batteries. But I won't be able to stream my excursions live, I'm afraid. Data is shipped up to the orbital station in big chunky burst transmissions, but we can only do that when in alignment, and that's every three days, I think?"

He bounced back upright, swinging forward to lean on his knees, the camera refocusing on his face as he came close. "I'll miss you all like the dickens, but I'll be back to check in soon. And with some exclusive footage of the neon jungle in Alcyone's seas!

"Until then, all you devilishly handsome viewers! Be sure to subscribe and add me to your galaxy feed to get the hottest of scoops!" As always, he pointed at the camera, letting out a little _pchoo_ noise as he mimed firing his fingerguns. "Thanks for watching!"

 

* * *

 

Given how late your arrival to Alcyone was, it's not a surprise to learn that you missed all the mandatory classes. Still, it's hard not to be a little miffed; as you walk around the COO, you can see a very clear division in the people staying here. The majority of the population are still researchers, instantly recognizable by their fine labcoat plumage as they hustle around the floating laboratory spheres. Others are wearing sleek CrockerCorp colors, so they must be the fine folks running the COO.

Besides them, there are clearly a few tourists. Not nearly as many as Jane would like, but each is instantly recognizable by their bare feet and brightly-colored drapery covering their bathing suits. Their skin is beaded with water as they chatter and walk around, but oddly they don't seem to make a mess dripping all over the place.

You're imminently jealous of them, but also know it can't be helped. Rules are rules for a reason, and you don't just toss them aside when you are visiting an alien planet! The last thing you want is to become a cautionary tale of celestial sailors.

Also, the headline _Dashing Explorer Jake English Lost On New Resort Planet_ would not help your pal Janey. In fact, you think she would be quite miffed.

You take dinner in the Bubble, looking longingly out over the water. As is practically expected of you, you take a few shots of your meal before realizing you can't show them off; the window of communication with the orbital station has passed.

Now, it's just you, taking your sup alone. Sitting there overlooking the water, you can feel the way the COO gently moves on the water. Somehow, it's calming your excitement and your nerves, the urge to hold still and feel winding you down.

You've spent so much time on space stations with their eerily perfect equilibrium, coming back to a planet is nice. You could use a decent sublight connection to while away some hours with, but still: it's nice.

Peace and tranquility and aquatic light aside, you wake with the sunrise to hustle your rump out to the first of the required classes. There are two sessions every day, one in the morning and one at night. If you finagle this right, you can get your feet wet by tomorrow night.

The 'classroom' as it is seems to just be one of the laboratories, sectioned off from the equipment and experiments with an opaque glass wall. You and the three other attendees sit around a tidy lab bench, for lack of anywhere else to settle on. The other civilians look tired. One has a large canister of coffee they are nursing, the lip of the drink never quite leaving their mouth.

You sit long enough you are beginning to truly worry that you might soon be forced to make conversation. Gnawing your lip, you try to think of a safe volley. Or maybe a bad one, something so awkward you can convince everyone sitting here to just forgo polite chatter.

This horrifying untenable scenario never comes to pass; finally, someone strides briskly into the room, a troll wearing a lab coat with dark red lines along the hems. On her label is the emblem of the Calypso Outpost: two concentric circles tucked inside a round C.

"Hi there!" She circles around to the far side of the table. "Four new faces, I'm surprised the shuttle could handle transporting that many people at once," she says, her voice flat as sheet metal. "Before you're allowed to soma dive, we have to brief you on what soma _is_."

She bends down and pulls out a giant jar of water. Or, what looks like water; you hardly fell of the starfreighter yesterday and can make the assumption this is….

"This is soma," the troll scientist says. Her nails click loudly against the thick glass sides. "Seems like water, but has a different molecular structure, which gives it that sort of iridescent shifting look."

She blinks, her eyes a rich winey red, matched perfectly by the paint on her lips. "Oh. I'm Aradia by the way. Dr. Megido if we're coworkers or if I don't like you. I think it's best to introduce myself before doing this."

Without further discussion, she reaches under the table again and lifts a small glass box to place on the table next to the jar. Inside you can see a soft bedding of wood shavings and dried grass. Hustling around in there is a mouse.

"This is the important part," Aradia says, before taking the mouse out of the enclosure and dropping it directly into the jar of soma.

Clearly this is meant to be a demonstration, but you can't help but standing up, off your stool, leaning forward towards the jar. The little fellow sinks through the liquid, arms stroking desperately, tail thrashing around. Next to you, one of your unknown companions murmurs a stunned "Oh shit," as the mouse hits bottom.

Aradia puts her hands on the table and bends down, her face lining up with the bottom of the jar, distorting her features like a funhouse mirror. "Oh, it's not a very good swimmer. That's a shame when a bunch of researchers take you to an ocean world. That's a mishap waiting to happen."

"Uh!" you croak out as you watch this poor little vermin twitch and scuttle around in panic. "Is this strictly necessary?"

"Yes it is. Hold on and watch."

You try to simmer down, not thrilled about watching a small helpless creature die to… warn you of the dangers of being a poor swimmer?

But the longer you wait for the death knell of this creature, the longer it continues to keep kicking. Eventually, it seems to get over its panic at being submerged and rights itself, tiny claws scraping at the bottom and sides of the jar.

"What, did you all think I was just going to murder a perfectly useful mouse in front of you?" She rolls her eyes, then pushes her sleeve up to her elbow. With nary a care, she thrusts her hand down into the jar, fingers curled like a scoop. The mouse gets excited again, trying to move out of the way, but there's a deficit of space in there.

Pulling the mouse free, she returns it to the enclosure. "So that's soma. Looks like water, but is perfectly breathable."

The same hushed person to your side asks, "Howzat work? I thought liquid oxygenation was impossible because… something." They trail off uncertainly.

Aradia shakes moisture off her hand, then makes a face, rubbing her hand on her coat. "Usually a liquid system requires equipment to help you expel the used liquid. it's too dense, you can inhale it, you can't exhale it. And no one has managed to hit that perfect balance of density of oxygen and breathability. I mean, some places have it! But not without rebreather tech."

She taps her nails on the jar again. "Alcyone just went and solved the whole problem for us though. Any air-breathing creature we throw into soma comes out perfectly fine."

You clear your throat softly, almost hoping she doesn't hear. Her gaze swivels to hold yours. "Erm, I'm not one to interrupt an expert by any means, but… if-- if you have this stuff, why isn't it being shipped out everywhere? I can think of plenty of worlds that would enjoy a tool like this, and _plenty_ more that would love it for diving hotspots."

"Because we don't know what it is." Her fingers rub together, still beaded with liquid. She rubs them on her coat again. "It spreads through many liquids, including various water solutions, turning all other liquid into more soma. And we can breathe it, of course, but it doesn't _oxygenate_ us. It just… replaces whatever we need it to." She smiles suddenly, brightly. "The COO has been here for decades and we still don't know how this works! Imagine us spilling some of it into a terraformed ocean! It'd completely take over with exponential spread! We are learning how it affects flora and fauna, but without full understanding, it could cause an extinction-level event.

"So, you know." Her smile is downright sunny. "Don't take any offworld, okay? That'd be bad."

Aradia explains a little more of the specifics of soma, but most of it is well over your head. Highly adaptive alien substances are indistinguishable from magic, and all those ancient proverbs. She hands datapads to everyone as "homework" and kicks everyone out, claiming "I have to go dictate the results of leaving a mountain of terran food soaking in the stuff. Excited to see how toxic it might've become." She winks at you. "Usually not at all, but I'm sure we'll discuss that later."

By the time you are turned loose, the sun is in the sky and it's well into lunchtime.

There's a bistro set up on one of the lido decks, where the platform lowers enough to let divers enter and exit the ocean. As you take in a mealy soup of roasted vegetables with crusty chips, you look over the water with a growing realization.

You grew up on a LT-HA world-- low terrain, high aquatic. It was a strange planet to grow up on; everyone who settled there seemed to pick out an island to live on. The populace used airskippers or even ocean ships to visit each other. But your gran made sure you knew how to swim before you could talk, and your earliest memories were of ink blue ocean surrounding your island.

Alcyone looks nothing like your homeworld. The ocean is too clear, too placid for such an enormous body. Instead of mysterious dark depths, it shines and flashes you with glowing lights that seem to be tucked just under the surface, as if you just had to reach a hand down and grasp them.

While you are biding your time, you should collect B roll. You can fluff out your videos with extra footage, showing off the COO itself. Or, the Coop. You've still yet to hear _anyone_ call it that.

Instead, you make use of the fact sweet affluent Jane is paying your bill, and order drinks, watching as people come and go from the ocean. You're itching to at least stick your feet in, maybe dangle your legs off the edge of the deck.

When the evening lesson rolls along, you are the first one there. You're early by about thirty minutes, and catch the troll scientist flicking her stylus over a datapad.

You walk by her quietly, and grab a seat on the other side of the wall, at the table.

A few seconds pass, and you wince as you hear her stand up and join you in the classroom.

"Are you bad at time or just really eager?" she asks, and her tone is completely mild, almost strangely lacking accusation.

"The latter, I think?"

She walks over to her spot on the opposite side of the table and tilts her head, considering you. It's difficult not to break her gaze. "The mouse thing usually scares off the new people. I do that mostly so no one shows up for the night class, and I get to go home early."

Heat floods your face. "Oh, shitknickers, I'm sorry. I can, I could go if you really want?" But even as you say that, you're sullen. If you can't get this sit-in done, it'll push back your certification for diving and extra day.

Aradia puts her fist on her hip, continuing to stare at you. She barely blinks; you don't think that's a troll thing? Perhaps she's just trying to psych you out. You stare right back with all your might.

"Lesson two is sticking your head in soma," she tells you briskly. "Before we let you out into the reef, you have to learn to keep calm and breathe. Otherwise you'll panic and no amount of soma will keep you from hyperventilating." At her own words, she pauses. "Actually… I need to talk to medical about that." She pulls her datapad out of her coat pocket and taps at it with the end of one claw.

"Is that safe?" you ask.

"Using a soma submergence to prevent hyperventilation?"

"No, sticking my head in a jug of Alcyone brand alien water!"

Aradia finishes writing out her note before giving you any more of her attention. "That is the trillion credit question."

When she doesn't go on from that, you lean in expectantly. "And…. do you have an answer?"

"No one here is making a trillion credits," she tells you with that somewhat unsettlingly wide grin. "Science isn't really about definitive answers, you know."

"That is such hedging it's like a garden maze in here," you say sourly.

"Yeah! I know! But it's the truth! Look, we've been dunking plants and animals and volunteers into soma for decades now, and it's not hurt anyone. We've even done stress testing with human subjects that get better paid than I do, kept them in a soma tank for over a week. The oxygen level in their blood lowered to _trace amounts_ as the soma took over the job in their body chemistry." She shrugged. "They survived. Came out, and they returned to normal oxygen levels in a few days."

"That's batshit up the belfry," you say.

Aradia gives an even more enthusiastic shrug. "It is. So we can't tell you it's totally safe because we sure as frogs croak don't know _how_ it works, but we have no evidence its dangerous. This is kind of why CrockerCorp bought us out. They think it could be extremely useful recreationally and in deep space exploration. A low stress liquid breathing system would be staggeringly helpful!"

"Janey knows a profitable venture when she sees one."

"I guess. Point is, galactic law won't let us take soma offworld. But if people experience it enough and spread word and _demand_ it, that's a different story."

You rest your chin on your fist. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"I don't think about that a lot. I've been on Alcyone for four and a half sweeps. It's great work. I can't even fathom the ethics of its use, so it's better to keep everything theoretical." At last, her smile fades to something demure and a little sad. "And it's not often our opinion matters. Not when money's involved."

That's a sobering thought. You're not sure what to say in response.

"So, no one else is here. Probably not coming. You want to dunk your head in soma yet?"

You take a deep breath, trying to quell the way the idea makes your heart race. "Right. Yes, let's give that a shot."

Aradia escorts you into another pebble stone lab building. At this hour, the moons above the planet are as bright as suns, and the smooth surface of the buildings almost glow. You're not sure if they are somehow softly internally lit or if they are simply phosphorus, glowing in the dark and slowly expending the day's charge.

You might ask if you weren't so damned nervous.

The new building is submerged further into the ocean than the others, and the bridge tips down as you walk through the arched entry. Inside, the floor is elevated over a deep pool of water or soma.

Soma, you decide, given the slightly uncanny feeling it gives you as you watch it.

Jumping Jehovah's aunt, you hope she doesn't want you in the pool. It's a lot of the stuff. You're not sure you're ready for that.

"Specimen room," Aradia says in way of explanation. "We test long term immersion on a lot of imported organics. See the effects it has. I do most of my work here."

"Have you… ever…"

Aradia blinks at you in surprise. "Of course. You've seen what it looks like. Everyone's gone for a dive."

That's reassuring. But even more so is the tank she leads you to, separate from the pool. It's positioned against the far wall, and is twice as tall as you are, the top of it set into the gentle slope of the ceiling. In front of you, it has an opening, a perfectly round gap in the glass. It's lined in metal, and something shimmers and distorts the soma on the other side.

Aradia strides right up to it and puts her hand through the hole. "It has a basic permeable barrier, nothing fancy. We use it to do short tests. And for this."

She takes one long step back and points. "What you're going to do is stick your head in there and breathe in."

You look at the tank. "Right. Just…?"

"Oh, it's going to feel very wrong at first! But it's better to get that physical shock over with here in a controlled environment instead of when you're in an ocean of it, don't you think?"

"That does make sense," you murmur, and tentatively approach.

There is nothing for it. You have to do this. In fact, as you place your hands on the tank around the window, as you linger there and hesitate, Aradia takes out her datapad again and starts using one of her long claws to navigate the screen, completely losing interest in you.

Buck up, English. This amount of cowardice doesn't become you. You've traveled the stars! Shown so many of your viewers the sort of adventures they could have if they put their fear aside for just a moment!

You take a deep breath, and shut your eyes.

"Want me to hold your glasses?"

You nearly jump out of your skin, leaping back from the tank and whipping around to look at Aradia. Who, bless her heart and soul, doesn't laugh at your display. She just holds out her hand, and takes your glasses when you drop them in her palm.

It helps a little; you can't see her now.

You lean in again, hands braced on the tank.

Deep breath.

And in.

The first sensation of the soma only heightens the uncanny element of the whole thing. You press your head in, and cool fluid immediately soaks into your hair and eyelashes, coating your skin. But the resistance is off; you move forward, and the soma lets you in easily, filling the space around you with an almost sentient gentleness. It's the inverse of the pressure you feel when you throw yourself into water.

It's so damned strange, you twist and turn your neck, moving through the stuff. You can feel your hair corona out around you like water and when you blow out a small bubble of air, you feel it rise along your face and away just like with water.

You open your eyes tentatively. You… can't see; why didn't you think to wear contacts today? Sure, you look better in specs, but they just didn't have the same utility.

Still, the soma is soft on your eyes; the urge to surface out of the stuff to rub at your eyes doesn't strike you. It's fine, honestly.

Carefully, you exhale another stream of bubbles. You need to take a breath soon. Oh fuck, you need to breathe in this stuff.

Thinking about how it works helps a little. This is miracle water! The perfect density for the tough cracker jack that is liquid breathing! You know, you _know_ that it will be safe. Aradia seems like a particular shiny penny of a gal, and you can't imagine her being wrong after years at work with this.

You force yourself to decide, blowing out the last of your air. Before you can even consider it further, you suck in a breath through your nose, pure mammalian instinct.

Soma floods you, and your fingers press harder against the tank in your effort to _keep still and do this, fuck._

For a moment, panic has hold of you. This feels wrong. This is unnatural. You are a terran surface animal, and this is not how you _work_.

The next inhale of the stuff is a gasp through your mouth.

Pretend you're going to recount this for your show later. What will you say?

It's… almost like smoke. Except it's not, not at all. Smoke still has even less resistance than this, but it's _almost like that_ , the way it pours in to fill you like lemonade in a glass. It might expand to fill you? But mostly it just moves so perfectly, with so little disturbance, you think of it like some mystic impossible offspring of smoke and water. There is a slight chill to it, but it warms from contact with your body so quickly, it's hardly a bother.

It's in your lungs. Holy cripes, it's inside you. You've swallowed a bit of it, of course, but more than that, you have inhaled it and exhaled it, and it's working.

You're not in pain. Your vulnerable human organs are not collapsing under the weight of it. You shake as you force yourself to take the biggest, deepest breath you can. It's certainly there, you can feel the increased density in your chest as you breathe in.

But you let it all out in a long, steady exhale, pushing it all back out without any problem. Then, just for an encore, you do it once more: deep breath in, long breath out.

It tastes like the air after a storm smells. Petrichor, or something, soaking into your tongue.

You pull yourself out, and take a gulp of real air. "That was amazing!" you manage before coughing.

"That was pretty good for a first time. Most people need a few attempts before they do it. Here." Aradia holds something out to you. It's blurry and you cautiously wave at her. She taps your glasses against your wrist, and you take them, put them back on.

"It worked!" you tell her with enthusiasm.

"Yep." She smiles for you. "Good job. Now you just need to learn the diving equipment and I can clear you to leave the COO."

Your hair is plastered to your face. With a shaking hand, you stroke it back, out of your eyes. "That sounds like the bee's fucking knees, if you don't mind me saying! I'll see you bright and early in the morning."

There's a rueful tilt to her as she shakes her head. "The other tourists are going to be a class behind you. We'll do another one on one if you're up for it--"

"Hell yes I am!"

She snorts loudly. "Okay. Give me an hour and a half with the others, then you can come by. I'll teach you how to use everything, and if you pick it up fast… I guess you'll be in the ocean by the afternoon?"

You grin at her and give her double thumbs up. "Excellent! I can't wait to do this for real."

"Great." She gestures to the entryway. "You know, the sooner you head to bed, the sooner you'll wake up for your last class."

Your mouth twists into a wry curve as you lift an eyebrow at her. "Is that how time works?"

"To our pitiful limited impression of it, yes. Please, get out. My recuperacoon is calling my name. Metaphorically speaking."

Really, she's been a complete peach for putting up with you. After informing her of this and several other esteemed traits you can think of, you let her go, off to the research team's quarters.

You instead take the longest way back to the Bubble as you can, looking out at the Alcyone ocean and the wonders waiting for you down there.

There is soma still in your hair and soaking into the neck of your shirt. You rub your face, but it only moves the soma around.

A hot shower. That's what you need. Then maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to bed down for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any time i need a small character for a bit part i use aradia, she's just the best honestly


	2. somambulism

Given the amount of downtime you have between upload windows, you don't really have an excuse not to create some decent videos with actual editing. Without the ability to live stream your adventures, you believe you practically owe it to your audience to go for a more polished documentary feel.

More than anything, it fills your downtime. It's not like the Calypso Outpost has nothing for you to look at, mind. There's the aquarium sphere that is nearly as large as the Bubble, purportedly filled to the brim with specimens from Alcyone. You find yourself avoiding it, wanting to experience all the xenoflora and fauna for yourself. But there's also a half dozen restaurants that are begging for patronage. There's a high fidelity holo theatre, which usually would pull your attention, but…

Everything you think of doing always comes along with that particular posterior appellation: _But._

So you sit on the most comfortable chair in your suite, pulled up close to the window with Terrybot sitting in the bowl of your crossed legs. With your tablet hooked up to his circuitry, you can scrobble through all the footage you have so far. You pluck out the nicest clips and store them away to line up later. Maybe you should do some voice over? But that seems like a lot of effort.

You look out the window, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully. Now that you've gotten a taste for it, its easier to put your finger on what the breeze smells like. It's completely devoid of the salt tang from your homeworld, but that's not unusual; few oceans out there in the wild starry yonder are.

But there has always been something compelling about the air after rain, and that is just what Alcyone smells like.

You curl your arms around Terrybot and watch the sun as it continues to rise.

 

* * *

 

"Pay attention, because this is important," Aradia tells you.

The entire pitch of Alcyone is the free, open, endless diving. That apparently is just marketing, because your new scientist friend loads you down with trinkets.

First is a band that fits easily around your arm, sliding up your wrist and to your bicep before afixing itself in place with just enough friction and pressure to stay put. "To hold everything," she tells you when you prod at it curiously.

"Oh," you say, feeling silly.

She takes your hand and slaps a long sturdy tube device into your palm, about half a foot long. "For drinking if you get caught up away from the COO. When you get thirsty, try to remember to drink through this."

You look at the weird straw, looking down it and gently trying to bend it. It has almost no give. You tuck it into one of the little sleeves in your equipment band. "We can breathe the stuff but not drink it?"

"Do you know how much of the ocean we've surveyed?" she asks, and you shake your head. "Less than ten percent. And even that is an estimate because we're unable to completely map the depths of the planet. A lot of things live in the soma, and some of them are bacteria. The tubular induction device will filter everything so you can safely drink it." She smirked. "Upside of that is once its filtered, the soma is perfectly fine on your system. It's not very filling and you'll still want to come up for meals, but it's not the worst."

"It's just about the most friendly substance I've heard of in all my years," you remark.

"Sure," she says. The next thing she hands you is a very dense, small disc with a smooth divot in the center. "Do not press the button," she tells you when your thumb immediately tries to fit into the divot. "It's a floation device. If you somehow find yourself too far from the COO and need to rest, this will expand into a foamy cushion you can lay on for a while. It'll last about six hours before it dissolves."

"Does that happen often? People wandering too far afield? Or aocean?"

"No. We recommend you only swim for maximum four hours anyway. Also stay in the perimeter of the COO. Compasses don't work on Alcyone because everything about the magnetosphere is strange and most data movement in the soma fails."

That dampens your excitement just a tad. "That sounds… somewhat dangerous. Has anyone been lost?"

"Not in the past few years. But we have a way of finding you still, though it's _really_ outdated technology. It's the only thing that works though."

The next piece of equipment she has for you, she helps you put on. It's a glossy flat band that bends between her hands as she steps in and holds it up. "Pull your collar back for me."

When you do, she fits the strap around your neck. Joining the ends together, it seals together and, like your equipment armband, fits itself snug to your skin. When you reach back, you can feel another divot button, presumably how to take it off.

"You need to wear this every time you go out into the ocean," she tells you sternly. "It'll help you with breathing through the kind of pressure you'll find deeper in the ocean. Which, you totally should not be venturing out to, but…" She flips her hand through the air. "What if you have surprise late on-set narcolepsy and fall asleep and sink into a chasm? That'd be pretty bad." She taps two fingers against the collar. "This will keep you breathing."

"Handy as an overstocked glove shop. I have to admire all the due diligence everyone has done to make this excursion as safe as possible!"

"I guess. Also, if the airator-- that's what we call it, rebreather is trademarked apparently-- if the airator comes off while you are underwater, it will let out a sonar pulse that our sensors can pick up."

You sputter and start laughing before you can catch yourself. "Sonar? _Sonar?"_

"Nothing else works! So if you're in danger, it'll let out a blast of sonar. It'll probably burst your eardrums in the process, but we can fix that. Dying of starvation too far from rescue, we can't fix that so easily."

You swallow, and feel the airator move alongside your neck. It's a little tight, but given its purpose, you think you'll just deal with it. "Too right." You clear your throat, trying not to fidget with the collar. "Anything else for me, Miss Aradia?"

"That is Doctor Miss Aradia to you," she says in a flat tone before grinning. "You're fun, you know that? I'm not sure turning Alcyone into an attraction point for rich vagrants is a good idea, but you'll probably enjoy this. Oh, also!" She waggled a finger towards your neck. "The airator shifts colors. You can make it match your skin tone or punch it up with a bright color or just let it cycle through its prismatic projections. That's what its doing now."

"I've got a veritable rainbow 'round my neck? Mercy me."

"It's certainly a look." She put her hands on her hips. "That's everything. Remember to come in every few hours for safety. If you start to experience any unusual symptoms, you need to come into medical _immediately_. Don't take any creatures out of the ocean or your privileges will be revoked before you can say 'certification cancelled.'"

You smile. "This is terribly exciting."

"I can tell. You're bouncing a little, like a rubber sphere toy." She considers for a moment, lips turning down into a little moue of concentration. "What else… oh the light."

She pivots cleanly on her heel and gestures to one of the tanks. Today, it has some kind of complicated piece of coral that seems to be built out of braided hexagonal blocks. It glows a soft pink hue. It's quite lovely, and you stare at it for a moment.

Aradia snaps her fingers in your face and you jump. "See? Exactly. Most of the somatic life put off a faint bioluminescent glow. It's captivating. As in literally captivating; it exerts a very very low grade compulsion that makes you just want to stare. A lot of the somatic life uses it to trap smaller, less sentient creatures so they're easier to catch and eat."

"Well, that's fairly menacing, Doctor Miss Aradia."

"Like everything else, it's probably safe. Mostly it just makes the divers stick around the local reef to stare like dumb antlerbeasts at all the colors. Every morning and evening lifeguards do a lap around the COO to make sure no one has lost track of time."

"I will endeavor not to stare agog at the enchanting lights." When she gives you an approving nod, you start to grin. "So, if that's all you have for me…?"

Aradia pulls her datapad out of her coat pocket. "Temporary resident 4120, English, Jake. You are certified for diving." She taps at the shiny glass, then lifts the datapad to give it a retinal scan. It chimes in a warm, comforting way, and she finally lowers it again. "Now, please get out."

"Thank you so very much!" You take her hand to shake, and press a brisk kiss to the back of her knuckles before letting go. "I'll see you around!"

"Doubt that," she says lightly. "They'll have to drag you out of the soma." But she flicks her wrist in a vague wave goodbye, and turns away.

 

* * *

 

You wolf down a late breakfast, not even bothering to sit at the bistro bar. Some of the night divers are laying around on the lido deck, backs to the smooth pearly railing or flat against the floor, talking and and gesticulating excitedly. A few finely dressed attendants carry them enormous bottles of water and fruit. You get the impression they spent more than four hours out there.

After nearly choking on a bite, you slow down, and chew your food like a civilized gentleman. Gran would reach through the cosmos to celestially slap you upside the head if you felled yourself on a sandwich before an adventure.

But the moment you're done, you drain your minty morning drink and head over to the lowered part of the deck, the embarkation point into the ocean.

A human in hotel uniform gives you a significant look as you approach. Immediately cowed, you wander over to them, and wait as they look at their tablet. "Mr. English, how are you."

You're not too interested in pleasantries right now, and offer an anxious grin. "Eager and ready to get out on the high seas! Dr. Megido cleared me about an hour ago." The tablet is at such an angle you can see a bit of the screen if you lift up on your toes.

The attendant quickly tilts it out of your sight. "You are certified to swim. Please remain in the perimeter. Please do not disturb or remove any specimen from the ocean. If you run into any danger, please remember to activate the alarm in your airator. Please swallow this, it will protect you from the jellyfish-analogues."

You are handed a small clear pill capsule with tiny blue spheres inside. Antitoxin, perfectly standard. Popping it into your mouth, you swallow it dry, and smile hopefully.

The attendant nods and waves you through. "Please enjoy yourself."

By the time they have finished speaking, you have your feet wet. The deck has a long run of steps down into the ocean; beneath your bare feet, they are frictive and grip you steady as you walk further and lower.

Soma laps at your ankles, and then your knees. It's perfectly not at all like wading into a pool or into water. Vividly, you can remember being young and trying to swing your arms to and fro in the ocean, amused at how the water resisted you. You also remember being older, and how launching yourself into the ocean left you with a welt along your back as you hit the water wrong.

Here, on Alcyone, you move through the ocean easily, with a swiftness that doesn't make any sense. It's uniquely alien in a way that purple skies and binary suns have not been for most of your life. When you push off the lido deck and drift into the soma, for a moment it's a little too weird-- it's hard to stay afloat, you think? But in such a subtle way it just chafes at your comfort a little.

Regardless, you've made it out of the COO. There is an ocean waiting for you.

Someone else would assume this is the sort of thing you'd want Terrybot primed and ready for. Viewers devour that sort of thing, the vicarious thrill of seeing someone else experience something for the first time, doubly so for things they fear doing themselves. It's the sort of work that pulls plenty of people in and gives you a modest but serviceable audience.

That, and what _looks_ like a first reaction. Really, you always prefer to do things this way, to prepare a day early and tackle something at your own speed before returning with Terrybot. If nothing else, you have become a very serviceable actor over the years.

It means the first time you dive, the moment is yours.

Of course you hold your breath at first. You're only human. Eyes squeezed shut and lungs full of air, you kick and propel yourself further along. The soma surrounds you, its clingy wetness familiar but off. With just a flutter of your legs you feel yourself cut forward, and it's like an airskipper given too much juice.

Your eyes snap open to make sure you don't hit anything. The ocean doesn't sting your eyes and you blink as you look around.

Making the same decision again, you blow out a long steady breath, watching a stream of air bubbles zip along to the surface, rippling the image of the sky above you.

And you inhale deeply, lips parted. Cool liquid fills you up, warming with your body.

It's perfectly fine. You float there, just settling into it like a welcoming embrace. With your contacts on today, you can see the reef before you, spread out like a bumpy carpet teeming with floaty, glowing things and zipping shapes. Looking through soma is clearer than your bog standard water, certainly, but there's still… light refraction or whatever, and it all still shifts and moves indistinctly.

You could probably see better if you got closer. So you stroke ahead, heading for the closest patch of colorful aquatic-- no, _somatic_ life you can reach.

With the way you cut through like a laser through candy floss, it takes seconds before you're close enough to get a load of what has been gleaming outside your window since you've arrived. Now, you can see enough to understand why the whole ocean glows like hot metal under glass: everything is _alight_. There are curly-cue feathery stalks growing from the silty bed; a pumice pock-marked trunk unravels into lavender-green-yellow ribbons that all move independent of each other, tangling together and slipping free from knots with slippery ease; a fissure in rock spits sporadic bubbles that sparkle with that translucent rainbow soma just seems to have; fragile-looking cylinders jut out in spires, coated in fine crystals like salt; small darting fish zip in and out of the spires like residents of a little fishy city.

Even the rock itself seems to be lit up. Streaks of pink and blue cut jagged lines deep into the stone. Out of curiosity, you paddle closer and squint in. Inside each crack, more sugar-candy colors catch light and shine back at you, like getting a peek inside a geode.

Something startles out of the geode-y rock, a lurid blue _thing_ shoving against the crack. It seems to get stuck, too big for the fissure, but is wiggles out, long wavey fins squeezing out to flap wildly. It pulls itself free, and you lean back as it swims at you. Whatever kind of fish it is, it reminds you of a bird, with enormous wingfins feeding back into a twisty tail.

You blow at it, and it flips the other way, knocked off course and swims away from you, back into the foilage. As it goes, it bumps into a flourescent yellow petaled bulb with tiger stripes. The bulb snaps itself shut in apparent surprise, and you laugh.

When you hold out your hand, your dark skin highlights with the various hues from the flora. It's a gaudy display. You grin to yourself.

With enormous reluctance, you push away, because this is one small spot, one boulder covered in some pretty plants, and this goes on for _miles._

It'll be a cinch to pitch this place to anyone. You just have to tell them it's like flying. Or, oddly, you think it might be better? Outside a few planets, you have to contend with gravity when you're flying. And on those scattered planets, there isn't as much atmosphere, and it's much less fun.

Just for kicks, you spin yourself, to see if you can. It's downright graceful, a pirouette, twirling right back around to the oceanscape with ease.

You've been submerged without a single puff of oxygen. Minutes have dragged by, and you let out a sigh, encouraged by how swiftly the soma leaves your lungs. Given how troublesome taking things away from their homeworld can be, you certainly understand why using this stuff offworld isn't allowed (yet). But also, this is _much_ better than the alternatives in the market. At least in your novice opinion.

But of course, there are times where things ought to stay where they belong.

You let the dour thought pass you by and start stress testing this whole strange alien not-water. Throwing yourself forward, you slip into a sort of breaststroke, dragging yourself as quickly through the soma as you can. Which come to find out is _pretty fricken fast_. You've never been an athletic slouch by any means, but after swimming as hard as you can until your arm gets a twinge-- stupid mistake, you didn't take the time to stretch-- you spin around again.

There is a field of drifty vibrant ocean carpet, and the submerged underbellies of the COO's buildings are a ripple against the surface, much too far away.

"Whoops," you say to yourself, forgetting for a second you can't speak. Except you… maybe can? Or it's a damn sight more clear than trying to speak underwater. Now you wish you had a swim buddy to test this out with.

Best you get back towards the Outpost. You're not certain what the 'perimeter' is, but you don't want to run afoul anyone who could suspend your certification.

There's no rush to be had, though. You swim back more leisurely, legs driving you back. It gives you time to survey the reef out here. It's almost too much to fathom, the colliding colors and shapes. Your Gran always liked to tell you about the deep ocean creatures of Earth and how they rivalled the aliens of the stars. It seems much the same here.

The space ahead of you is completely clear one moment, and the next a cloud fills your path, a curtain pulled across. It's like reverse fog, not darkening the area but filling it with a warm, pale blue light, like luminous smoke.

You know enough to stop and paddle back a bit. The cloud curls into itself and expands, like a veil, a fluffy veil with such a warm color radiating out. As you watch it, you almost feel that sense of relief you get after you've spent hours watching a holovid marathon and you finally turn it off and sit in the dark. Your eyeballs feel less tense, and it suffuses outward until your face feels relaxed, and the alert tension in your neck loosens in degrees.

It's probably an embarrassing few minutes that you float there like a particularly dumb piece of driftwood. Eventually, after a few blinks, your brain seems to get… bored with the cloud's beauty.

Oh. _Oh._ Right. Aradia definitely mentioned that things out here could do this. A low grade compulsion to sit there slack jawed, of course.

You shut your eyes, squeeze them tight, letting that tension return to you.

When you open again, the cloud is still there, and it's captivating, it's very…

No, nope, no. You look down at your feet until that train of thought derails, and try again.

It takes a while, but you think you learn a knack for it. What you're looking at is a bunch of jellyfish. They are very poofy little guys, nestled close together. Hanging down from the big doofy caps are tendrils that look like puffs of cotton. That's where the glow's coming from.

Now that you know that, the weird effect seems to have lessened. When you focus on the details, the way the cottony tails mingle together into an enormous megapuff, the glow is less distracting, and instead you can kind of enjoy the sight.

It does happen again, as soon as your focus slips. Then, the lax warmth seeps in, and you have to slap your face.

This is ridiculous. You've taken your antitoxin. And now, you think you want to get back to the deck for a refreshment, thanks.

Steeling yourself, you take a breath-- is it a breath when its soma? a gulp? hell with it, you don't care. Kicking on, you reach out with your hands pressed together. As you get close, the jellies seem to get scared off and start parting. Your hands urge them on faster.

Even with the booster you got before, you can feel tingly ice creeping along your skin where you touch the puffy stuff. It's not painful, but its damned weird, and you hurry on through to get away.

One puff gets you right in the spine, and you yelp at the not-sting. It itches like the dickens for a minute before fading again.

By the time you return to the lido deck, you are legitimately starving, liable to waste away at the drop of any and all hats. You haul yourself out, thinking about the roasted vegetable chip dish you had before.

The timing goes completely corkscrewed, as you pull from the ocean with a lungful of soma. There is an awkward moment when you have to turn back and breathe it all back out, draining yourself and finally taking a gulp of air. Which, hell, air moves differently and you send yourself into a coughing fit as you suck in oxygen too hard and, _ow jesus christopher that's unpleasant_.

Next time, you decide. Next time you'll not balls the entire transition up. Fully breathe out _before_ coming up for air, right.

You take lunch at the bar, sitting damp on a stool without a care. As you chow down, the lingering soma beads up on your arms. The sun is out and its pretty warm, but you don't actually seem to dry off at all. It was in the datapad Aradia gave you, that soma needs to be washed off.

It's intriguingly odd, and you spend your time drinking a few tall, cold glasses of water and flicking the beads of soma together. They bunch up into a large drop that spills out as you try to build it up too much. Then you do it again.

Eventually, you decide you have done your due diligence, and go back into the ocean.

Just to see how well it goes, you forgo the steps this time and just dive off the deck. It's absolutely heart-racing. You slice through the soma like a thrown dagger, and with just your hands pulled together into an arrow, you're propelled on and on.

It takes several exhilarating seconds before you have to start kicking to keep up your speed.

Taking your time, you scope out the area around the COO. Tomorrow, before the orbital station comes back into alignment, you want to get out here with Terrybot to record your first excursion into the soma. You imagine you'll have no trouble at all feigning surprise and excitement; after hours out here, it's still just… a really wondrous fucking thing honestly.

Like flying, but better.

You swim out, trying to get a feel for the area. You need to have an idea for tomorrow where you're going to be going. From what you can tell, most of the swimmers tend to head straight out and settle into a little bowl of the reef. As you swim around, you see them a few times.

Several of them are laying on floating cushions. What the hell is the point of that? The idea of treating this endless breathable ocean like a hotel pool offends you deeply.

Rolling your eyes at them, you swim out again. If you pitch this right and really show off what's it like out here, you're sure to draw a better crowd. People with a sense of adventure and wonder!

So maybe you'll veer a little to the right off the lido deck, tuck a bit around the side of the Bubble (so much as any perfectly round building has a side), and film here. There is still plenty of flora under you, including some big sea anemone things with half a dozen tendrils, each as big around as a dinner plate.

You float there and watch the marshmallowy pink arms sleepily chase a few fish around. It's almost a game, how the fluttery eel-things zip through its grasp over and over.

Abruptly, two of the stalks clap together on a fish, and its enveloped and… you don't know how this thing eats, but presumably that poor fish is going to be supper.

Perhaps you should have brought Terrybot out already. He could take panoramas while you just try to stare at everything at once!

It's tremendous fun, but also a little exhausting.

On this side of the COO, the reef doesn't spread out as far. It still surrounds the buildings fully for what feels like several leagues, but as you drift around, you find the point where it abruptly terminates. The gleaming crystal stuff and vivacious plants come to an end on the edge of what looks like a steep cliff drop.

At first it… really unsettles you to even look at it. Everything has been so brightly lit and inviting, finding a dark spot tickles your brain in weird ways. But you are still able to see the COO over your shoulder when you glance back.

Cautiously, you pull yourself forward with cupped hands.

The dark area is a precipitous drop. The reef leans precariously over the ledge, but beyond it is what looks to you like a canyon. The entrance is rather narrow, but as you move along, you can see how it cuts through the rock, further down than you can see.  

The bottom may not be in view, but you think there's still glowy things living inside the canyon. That, or maybe it reaches all the way to a far side and opens up again, like a tunnel cut through a mountain. There's light. It's very dim, but you float forward, trying to see where it's coming from.

It'd be a stroke of luck if this was some secret grotto that brought you to a whole new area. The idea is downright cinematic: you, leading Terrybot along this deep, foreboding crevasse, shooting nervous looks back at him as he follows, only for it to open up into a brand new somatic wonderland.

That would wow the shit out of everyone. Even Jane, you bet, and she's always been the toughest of customers.

You're just not sure that's what the light is? But you don't want to leave the relative familiarity of the reef to find out. Quite irrationally, you feel like if you 'step' over the ledge you'll drop to your doom.

But that's silly. You suck in a deep breath. There is definitely a light in there. You just need to figure out what it _is._

You stop being an infant about it and kick forward, trying to get a glimpse of what's glowing in there. It's so dark, the light seems weak as a flickering flame, tender and about to snuff out.

It might be moving. You think maybe it's moving? Or is that just how light moves through water and soma, or whatever?

Cripes, you have an alarm around your neck, and if there was anything truly dangerous out here, they would have armed you or something.

You swim towards the light, trying to figure out how far away it is. It's so pitch dark around it, you can't really tell. Surely the walls should flicker with the light if it was in the canyon? but you're not sure where the walls are here, how spread out they might be.

Behind you is going to be the sun and the little orange dandelion head flora and the honeycomb-shaped coral. It's fine.

You are fine. You feel completely certain of your safety as you slowly swim forward. It's warm here, and your are full to the brim with something heavier than air, and it slows you down, keeps you from panicking. This entire world feels like an invitation, and you can't work up anything like worry.

Soma flows in through your mouth, and out through your nose, like sipping honey smoke.

It doesn't seem like you're getting closer. But you can't really tell. It's such a soft glow, like gossamer. Like if you reached out, it would have a texture against your fingertips. Soft and lush and warm.

You swim.

You swim, and wait for another fleet of jellyfish to pass you by. Is it fleet? Squadron? You know there must be some kind of ridiculous collective noun for jellyfish, but you can't remember what it is. At the moment, you think it's a friggin' molasses slow annoyance of jellyfish, but that doesn't seem Oxford or Merriam to you.

You know how not to look at them now at least, so you have to admit they are more useful than anything. With the sun setting, their poofy cloud lights the way as you move through them. This time, one errant bugger tries to grab hold of you. In return, you pinch its soft cap and fling it away, back to its collective noun group.

The lido deck is ahead of you, with white lights along the steps. After so long surrounded in bioluminescent lights, the human-made kind almost sting your eyes.

Still, it helps you haul yourself out. This time, you breathe out fully before emerging from the soma, and take your first gulp of air in… what might be hours? You take it easy and slow, giving the flip a little care so you don't do something like hurt yourself again.

Or just look like an idiot hacking up air. That either.

The walk back to your room is an ordeal you weren't expecting. Your legs ache. Which, okay, you did spend almost an entire day swimming around. So that's to be expected. You had been told four hours, and you pretty much ignored that. And given your itinerary of filming tomorrow, you're probably not going to stick to four hours come morning either.

By the time you let yourself into your room, the adrenaline is draining from you like a plug's been pulled. Your hair is flat to your head and you got little soma beads all over you. The adult thing to do would be take a shower and rinse off, maybe use the hot water on your sore legs so you're a little more prepared for tomorrow.

But you want to sleep. You want sleep more than you've wanted anything else in your life.

Bracing one hand on the wall, you manage to peel off your swim shorts, dropping them to the floor with a sodden _fwmp_ as you step out of them. Your armband you drop on your bedside table, and you fumble with your airator for ten long, clumsy seconds before deciding you actually don't care.

The bed is soft, and you wrap your arms around your pillow, tucking your face against it.

You close your eyes, and relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to the strilonde discord for making such a great audience 83c


	3. wrapped in life and ultra green

Your kindling excitement gets a bucket of metaphorical water thrown onto it in the morning when you try to share your excursion with Terrybot.

Normally, this part is easy. You've already figured out how you want to do this bit of filming, and spent the morning putting the rest of the footage together. Ideally, you intended to record this first dive and some B roll of the surrounding area, then head back inside to slot it into place. If you got everything done in short order, you could upload to the orbital station before it moves out of position, make Jane happy, then go for a celebratory evening dip before turning in.

Everything about that plan becomes a sodden mess as soon as you drag Terrybot into the soma.

Your little helper is supposed to follow you around, tracking your movements and automatically filming you with perfect focus and framing. He's a devilishly clever rolly polly bot with the most advanced gyrosopic navigation on the market, silent hovering, and a rudimentary cinematography AI.

As soon as he's in the ocean, he lists drunkenly and starts wandering off at a jaunty angle, like a lazy paper plane waiting to hit a window.

Sitting on the lido desk with your legs in soma and your robot in your lap, you try resetting him, recalibrating him, cajoling him, anything to get him working again.

You have a tracker bracelet that is supposed to help him follow you. Once he's learned your shape and voice signature, he's not supposed to _need it_ anymore, but you put it on again in case it'll help.

Terrybot drifts into a feathery fan of coral instead of paying you any mind. "Terry, you blotted old bunny, what have you been drinking? Paint stripper?" you ask him accusingly; it's an old habit, talking to him. At least here, underwater (undersoma? subsoma? what is the verbage here, you wonder) no one can hear you do it.

This puts a pretty substantial damper on your plans. It's a problem you should have seen coming though; if there is so much to-do about communications not working in the ocean, maybe Terrybot's having trouble for the same reasons.

With a sigh, you grasp your spherical companion and push into his sides. After depressing a nudge, two handles extend out from him, ruining the perfect geometry of his body but giving you a way to aim him.

So you are destined to be the designated pilot of your automated camera. This throws a bag of spanners into your pre-set filming, but… for the moment, you have to get _something_. You are not certain how long your upload window is, but you know it's a fairly finite one.

What's pretty fun is that Terrybot still propels himself along. You just point him in a direction, and he sails forward, pulling you along behind him like an easy tow. Before long, you figure out a decent method, treating his eye like your own, and following the reef around, taking in the spectacle.

This is going to be _very_ nature documentary. Maybe you could punch it up with some witty commentary? Or, given you'll be the narrator, some commentary?

That could take extra time. You chew your lip, letting your eyes drift away from your path as you weigh your options. Uptime with the satellite will start in an hour or so. If you don't want to make a decision, you could ask Jane if she preferred… quite frankly a faster but shittier video or a very tardy but much better video. She is the one picking up your tab, after all.

Oh, you hate times like these, when you aren't sure what's best. It's so irritating to have to slow down and consider things and not just follow your easy format.

You're so caught up sorting out these sticky wickets, you drive Terrybot straight into another fucking collective noun of jellyfish. Really, you are right sick of the things! How are they always in the way? If Jane wants to sell this place as a resort ready for a steady stream of tourism, she should do something about the damned jellies!

One catches you right in the face, and you scramble and yelp. All the antitoxin nanites in the world can't keep it from being like someone slapped you in the nose. It's little puffy shit hits you, and you jerk and flip yourself around to try and get it off.

It's like trying to peel off wet tissue paper, but unpleasant and tingly all over. Your _tongue_ goes numb, that's the worst, and has you spitting as you try to get rid of the sensation.

After you wipe your tongue on your palm a few times to try and deal with _that_ , you finally calm down, just rubbing your face where it's all pins and needles.

When you finally stop, you turn to grab Terrybot.

Terrybot, who has continued to swim on his merry fucking path of tipsy destruction.

"Shit, come back here!" You flail to swim after him, the wash of adrenaline making your stomach turn. This morning is turning into such a disaster it's un-friggin-real!

He has a decent head start, but you have better somatic ambulation than him. It's a good thing too, because he's wandering much too far away from the COO. Definitely out of what would be generously considered the perimeter. You are a fellow who enjoys an adventure, but you don't want to get in trouble wandering off.

Terrybot has no such compunctions. He putts along as you chase him. You wince as he bumps into a geode-y stone and spins out from the impact, drifting into an arch that has him dropping out of your view.

If you were lucky, he'd just wedge himself in a chunk of coral and be done.

But you haven't had good fortune yet today and that doesn't seem to be ready to change now.

Once your panic settles, you have the sense to swim like a proper adult rather than a frantic doggy paddle. It helps you close distance with the last spot you saw him, near some orange dandelion heads that bump into each other listlessly.

As you catch up, you see something that has you flapping your arms to slow down.

Terrybot is in sight; you can follow his familiar green glow as it illuminates a pitch black fucking crevasse that cuts open the ground just beyond the reef. After so long surrounded in the pale light of the reef's many hues, the sudden absence makes something in your hind brain shudder in fear.

You tap the 'return' key on your bracelet, mashing it desperately. There is no sign that the robot gets the signal as it floats like a lobbed ball further away.

What you want to do is to turn back and get a light or maybe just find an attendant and complain that you lost your extremely valuable and personally significant piece of equipment and could someone go retrieve it?

But you also don't want to take your eyes off him. Last time you did, he swam off and got into this mess, and you can't bear losing Terrybot. Your Gran created him specifically with you in mind. You got the very first completed version, and he's been your only company for your journey.

Given how temperamental technology seems to be in this ocean, you are afraid this might be the last you'll see of your automated pal.

Deciding this is unacceptable, you grit your teeth and grip the rocky ledge of the canyon, pushing yourself forward with all your might.

The sudden darkness is enough to break you out in a complete sheet of gooseflesh. Logically, you know the researchers have pawed over the area around the COO for a few decades now. There is not some great leviathan ready to swallow you whole. It's just hard to convince your delicate mammalian sensibilities of that.

Keeping your eyes fixed on Terrybot, you follow him deeper into the crevasse. You are getting closer. Actually, you think his propulsion has finally wisened up and switched the hell off, and you've never been more relieved. Your legs ache from kicking so fast to catch him.

Narrow focus helps immensely. You don't think of how far you've swum or what might be hidden to your left or right, what is lurking under your bed or in your closet. You just think about your dear old Gran giving you a useful friend to take on adventures.

Your palms slap into Terrybot's chassis with such force you hear the sound even through the liquid. With a triumphant whoop, you tug him back into you, curling your legs up to cup him to your chest.

The old boy is quite confused. You force his handles back into his body and feel his propulsion finally cut off. His UI is flashing with errors, but you can handle that later. For a moment, you just wrap your arms around him and hug him close.

Rubbing your palm over him like reassuring a pet, you finally breathe out a sigh. The bracelet on your wrist lights up merrily as it re-syncs with him. Well, bloody took its time, didn't it?

For the moment, he is a comforting green light tucked against your chest. Everything else around you is decidedly not, and it's giving you that shivery fear feeling again.

You are relieved to turn back around, and take care to fully rotate, reorienting to the place from whence you came before you dare look up from your runaway robot.

Above you, as expected, is light. Compared to your surroundings, it's blissfully bright, sunlight streaming through the soma and making it shimmer with its faint iridescent hues. There is something warm about it, as if the heat of the sun was reaching down to you. Amid the darkness, it's blurry, and you squint upward for a moment, as if the light will resolve into something else.

It feels like something else, but you can't get a look at it.

Cautiously, you swim towards it. It's difficult to focus. And you try. You try hard to focus, but the light just seems brighter, brighter without hurting your tired eyes. Just warm light that unravels the tension in your eyes, then down your arms, and humming through your body.

You've stopped kicking your legs. But the light is reaching for you.

You close your eyes, and relax.

 

* * *

 

When you come out of it again, you are _not relaxed anymore_.

You find yourself standing in your hotel room, your footprints damp behind you, soma lingering on your skin as you stand at the vanity and look at yourself. It's the mental sensation of a lens being slid into place, triple image folding into a single crisp reflection of your own dumbstruck face.

Rubbing your face, a tense stunned cry pulls out of your throat. What was _that?_ Why can't you remember what happened?

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to pull it together. The morning was a total wash, all your attempts to get footage went awry, but it was nice. Until Terrybot wandered off.

Oh shit. Terrybot. You dove after him and you caught him, then…

Light. You looked back up to the light and couldn't look away. Which has happened to you sometimes, given the makeup of the reef, all the bright things that lived there and relied on that sort of biological mechanism to survive. More than once you've caught yourself cow-eyed at some seaflower or ocean predator. But nothing like this.

Now is time for you to be a sensible traveller of the stars. You wash your face and dry the soma off your arms before leaving your room in a hurry. It might be good to take time to get dressed before you go stomping around the COO, but honest to pete you don't care who sees you in your swimmers and skin.

You hurry out of the visitor areas and into the cluster of river stones that house the researchers and their work. You've made this trek a few times already, which helps immensely. In all honesty, you would rather chop off your leg than just swan into a random building filled with sensible science folk in your barefeet.

But you know which one is Aradia's labspace, and let yourself into that one.

It's chilly as soon as you step out of the sunlight and into the cool laboratory. Arms folding around yourself, you pad damply around, toes tingling against the shiny clean floors. If you could just have a word with Aradia, she liked you, she would help you without doing something unconscionably rash like taking your certification away.

Unfortunately, as you look around the sectioned-off lab spaces, you do not see your ram-horned friend. The lab is quiet, and the only person on duty is a human fellow in a lab coat with a tidy blue striped hem. Years around space stations and on starships has taught you well that the color probably corresponds to either his rank or perhaps his field of expertise. But you don't actually care about that, outside that blue is not burgundy and this is not who you wanted to see.

"Oh, uh, hey," the human guy says when he finally spots you. He hurriedly turns his datapad off in that surreptitious way people do when they don't want to be caught doing something they ought not during work hours.

It's spectacular how much you are not concerned with this. "Hello, where is Dr. Megido?"

He doesn't like your tone, it seems. He frowns at you, eyes narrow. "She's off duty? I'm pretty sure she took some shore leave up to the orbital station?"

"Is it shore leave if you have to board a ship to get there?" you ask.

"We're surrounded by water so I think no matter where you go it's some kind of shore leave?" He shrugs. "Do you need something."

It's not a question and he doesn't look happy to be asking it. You grimace and shake your head. "Sorry to interrupt your work," you say, just to see how the human glares at you as you leave.

Well, serve you papers and drag you to court, so you're not in the most charitable of moods right now! And now the only person you know by name on this damned collection of soap bubbles isn't around.

For a moment you just stand in the concourse of bridges, thinking. You are experiencing some kind of space oddity out here, something beyond what you were warned about with all the compelling xenoflora in the soma. Which… when you think about it logically, in the fading panic and all, maybe it's about _you?_ After all, the COO has been here for longer than you've been alive, and they've not experienced something like this!

Somehow, the idea that this is unique to you is a reassurance. You're used to having different troubles from the average joe and jane. Once your Gran figured that out, life got much easier, but you've always been _aware_ that your mind has a terminal case of wanderlust and tends to go off without telling you where or when.

It makes sense, really, you think as you hustle back to your room. The whole thing with the compelling light you've seen is how it makes it difficult to focus. Ergo, if you had an easier time focusing, you should be fine!

You shake out your bag onto your bed and paw through the heap until you find the little dispenser you're looking for. As you squeeze it in your fist, you can't help but grin. If this doesn't work and you walk yourself back to your hotel room for no damned reason, well, then you'll go tattle to the medical researchers. But before that, you would really like to go retrieve Terrybot.

Pulling out a little flat square from the dispenser, you tuck the medication under your tongue. It starts dissolving as you toss the rest back onto your bed. As it bounces, it knocks against a ball lamp you got back spelunking some crystal mountains last year.

It'll be perfect. You grab it and return to the lido deck.

The sun is sinking lower in the sky and your stomach follows its example as you realize you have completely and totally missed the communication window with the orbital station. No upload, not so much as a selfie sent up to your feed. Your fans are going to be worried. Jane is going to be a good deal more heated than that.

You will handle that later. At least for the moment you are reassured by the fact she can't ping you right now. Once you sort this shit out, you can stop to think about that next. You always work better when you can check items off a list.

Giving yourself a short break, you down another hydrating minty drink at the bar. You have a feeling you'll need it.

Offering a bland smile to the attendant on duty, you dive back into the ocean.

Really, this is when the scenery is most beautiful. When the sun is high and hitting the soma, it has all those fetching hues that bleed into each other like a melted mosaic, and that's perfectly lovely. It's like swimming through pastel glass.

But at night, when that eases off and before the moons are in position to rain their own light down, its darker, and all of the glowy things are that much more arresting.

Which, you realize, is maybe part of the problem? But you feel good about this attempt and your plan.

You are less excited when you make your way over to the canyon. It is, to your silent dismay, exactly where you expected it to be, right where your hazy memory leads you. Just a black gash cut into the vivacious ecosystem.

Terrybot is down there.

You take the lamp in your hands and twist it. It unseats and clicks, turning on with a bright white fluorescense. It's horrifically artificial and stands out appallingly down here. But it casts light a fair distance, and that's all you need.

One hand cupping the lamp, you swim forward and don't let yourself stop as you pass into the darkness. You are much too old to be afraid of the dark, and much too accustomed to the void of space.

As you push on, you start to check your bracelet. It's your best lead on your robot. Tapping the location button awards you a green double-blink. So he's near, but you're not close enough to get a lead on him. That is about what you expected.

You flutter your legs, holding out your lamp like a talisman. Its light is not quite as penetrating as you wished, but you can see the steep wall of the canyon as white flickers against its stony face. It makes you feel better to be closer to something solid, so you make your way over and press a hand against the wall.

It's dreadfully dark down here this time. Which is a thought that gives you a great deal of pause. Whatever does that mean, this time?

You swallow against the lump in your throat and look out around you. Even with your lamp, you can't see the opposite wall from you. But it feels strange, being down here and it's so dark.

It nags at you, as if something were missing. But you can't just hang around like a spat of moss. Putting it aside, you drag yourself along and check your bracelet again. It blinks at you again, a little faster. So you are closer than you were before. That bolsters you and urges you on with an infusion of bravery.

As soon as you get your paws on Terrybot, you are going to scurry away with your tail between your legs, but you are ready to make this rescue happen.

Your excursion into the dreary dark is a ponderous one. All you can do is avoid dropping your lamp and keep checking your bracelet, trying to detect the subtle difference in the blinks. It's hard to tell when you're so tense. Was this set of pulses closer together than the last? Are you even heading the right way? You sort of wish you weren't, because this is leading you further away from the entrance.

There must be a fair distance between you and the safety of the reef and the COO. You don't look back. Bravery is a balancing act on a knife's blade.

There is no way to know how long it takes before your bracelet finally responds to your tap with a steady connection, solid green against the inside of your wrist. It's so abrupt, you let out a yelp, then cover your mouth.

Then you roll your eyes at yourself. Honestly.

But the light is solid, indicating Terrybot is close. You mash the return button in hopes he will just drift into your waiting arms.

There is no such luck. You float there for a moment, casting your gaze around in case you will see an answering green light. Nothing happens. But you are finally in a place where you can detect him.

Lamp aloft, you see how it catches on the canyon wall, irregular slate stone. There are a few gaps in the rock. As you paddle forward, you peek nervously down each one.

Down the third gap in the stone, there is a faint green light. It's so soft and distant, you are fairly certain you would not be able to see it if you were not surrounded in such dense darkness. Even so, you tap your button again to be sure, and feel a wash of relief when a green pulse answers.  
  


Tucking the lamp into the curve of your elbow, you hurry along down the corridor you've found. It is, oddly, almost a straight line tunnel, evenly spaced around you on all sides. If you had both hands free, you could just barely touch each wall if you stretched all the way out. Maybe. You're not sure but it could be larger than your wingspan.

About halfway down the tunnel, with Terrybot's green beacon reminding you so dearly of home, you realize something.

Your last memory in this canyon was not of this tunnel.

Ergo, something has moved Terrybot here.

It is not a comforting thought. You try to push back against it with some good old fashioned logic. Maybe a creature found him and enjoyed his friendly roundness as much as you and put him up here. You are sure there must be somatic non-sapient creatures that enjoy round things. Who doesn't? It's practically a baseline test of being alive, the fondness of round things.

"Still if it's all the same I think it's time to head back, Terry," you murmur to yourself.

As your misfortune would have it, you don't find Terrybot until you reach the very end of the tunnel.

You also find… quite a few other things.

The tunnel hooks sharply left and opens into what you can only think of as a room. It's not even a cave, it's a room, with a slightly concave but largely flat floor, and rounded walls that span out to an area about half the size of your hotel room.

It must be a room, because it has signs of gosh fucking darn _life_ to it. Or at least design! There are hollows knocked out of the walls, evenly spaced with little ledges, very much like _shelves_. There are what look like round baskets woven from some bright yellow fibrous material; one has a lid missing, and inside you can see a powdery mush inside. The baskets are tucked under what seems to be a long table, and there you can see…

Things from the COO. Some deactivated datapads in a very tidy stack. An oblong plasticky device you recognize as a cheapo tourist camera. A few torches, all currently deactivated, but one completely dismantled and laid out in neat pieces like a dissection. Some… sciencey equipment you think you recognize from the labs but can't identify. A floatation device, currently deflated. A fairly wide variety of shoes, weirdly enough.

And sitting in almost a place of honor in the middle is Terrybot. There is a band of strappy material keeping him lashed down to the table, and your heart soars in your chest. He wanted to come to you and just couldn't! That makes you feel better.

Even with your pal in plain sight, you can't stop looking around. This is as queer as a half-credit chip. There are some organic lights set into the walls. Many of the shelves have more items from the COO, knick knacks and pens and a surprising collection of belts and a few of the ornate etched glasses they serve the fancy cocktails in. You find yourself wincing, wondering who was so careless to drop that into the ocean.

Above you, though. The room has a surprisingly high ceiling, and it is clustered in what seems to be a collection of… bubbles. Big glimmering bubbles, some the size of your fist, some easily as big as your head. They are all snug up against each other, stubbornly maintaining shape and lying separate of each other. It's absolutely strange and beguiling to see. You suddenly don't even want to breathe too hard, in case you disturb them somehow.

Alcyone is supposed to be an uninhabited world. This doesn't seem like the sort of thing that would exist on an uninhabited world.

The lamp slips from your grasp as your fingers go slack. You need to move. You suddenly feel like you're intruding into someone's private space, and that's a little absurd given the circumstances, but you really should go.

But not without Terrybot.

You reach for the straps pressing him down to the table and pull at them. They are tough like a mix of seaweed and sun-dried leather, and there is little give to it as you fit your nails under and yank. Smoothing your fingers down, you try to find where it's attached, but now that you've dropped the damn lamp, it's casting shadow up on the table and you can't see!

"Shitknickers," you mutter tersely, and twist around. There's too much force, too much haste, and you nearly spin yourself like a top, floating right by the lamp before you can correct yourself and push yourself successfully down.

Cupping the ball in your hands, you look up.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see down the tunnel. And down that tunnel, very faintly, just like you caught a luminated whiff of Terrybot at a distance, you can see light.

You clap a hand over your mouth, and strangle down the tremulous kitten cry that wants out of your throat. Then, fuck, forget noise, you are holding a giant ball of light! You throw yourself best you can away from the entrance to the room and against some of the shelves, the lamp tucked between your chest and the wall, trying to cut off as much as you can.

Stupid blasted fucking cheap twisty mechanism from the depths of Hades, you grind your teeth as you try to pull the lamp apart and twist it back to the off position. It just doesn't want to catch on your fingers, and takes entirely too long, but then by Jove's sixty-nine fucking moons, you get it to click back and the light winks out.

It's ludicrous, but you feel like your heartbeat is too loud. It's even more deafening now with the glow of somatic light around you, softer and comforting in a way you wish you could drown yourself in right now.

You look at Terrybot, and around the room, looking for… a hiding place? There is an empty basket, but you don't think you'll fit, and there's a great fleshy xenoflora in the corner, but it has that anemone-adjacent look that makes you fear potential stinging.

Maybe under the table? If you moved a basket over, but then how much time do you have?

Hooking your fingers around the corner, you try to take a sneaky peek down the tunnel.

And you can't tell how far away it is, but it's there. Now that you can really see it, now that the blasted artificial lamp is off, you can tell the difference, like this exists on a completely different spectrum. It's an amber glow, but it's built of… spikes of green and overlapping coronas of red and gas-fire blue, each reaching out of the honey light in waves before subsuming back down, like melting.

You feel like you might be melting too? Your eyes flutter shut, trying to… something. There is a whisper in your head that doesn't quite make it to your brain as you blink through it. All at once, you feel like a child refusing your Gran's chiding to go to bed. _But you're not tired._

Sucking in a breath, you force your eyes open and the light is filling the tunnel now. You can see it's source, a gently swaying point working its way towards you. It bobs and moves like something alive, organic and captivating.

You were working on something, doing something important. And now, you can't remember. Just one errant thought that shakes and wobbles like a slowing top:

Captivating, you think, is a heavy word.

The tension in your fingers feels like it's being taken from you. It's uniquely weird, nothing like you making a decision to relax, but more like something taking your hand and gently uncurling it. Your lamp leaves your grasp and sinks to the floor somewhere, rolling along. You don't see where it stops.

That light has come close now, enough that you think you should be squinting or shielding your eyes, but it's so calming. There's no pain, even as it fills your vision. You can't look away, and feel your spine fill with that same warm glow. It's sweet and dripping, and your back curves as you bend back slightly to follow it up, above your head.

There's other things. But for the moment, they don't matter. The liquid in your mouth and down your throat feels like liquor, and you want to keep very still, lest you try to move and make a fool of yourself, drunkenly staggering like a lush off his stool. If you're still, it can flow through you, heady and making you slow.

Your lips part around a deep sigh as you top up like a champagne flute, bubbly and fizzy. Behind your eyelids, you can still see the light, feel it like the sun on your skin. No heat, but movement through the soma, near you.

It's a great deal larger than just an orb of lovely luminescence.

Opening your eyes again feels like pushing a boulder back up a hill through a mudslide, but you want to know. And there's no force in the universe more persistent than human curiosity. Everyone says so, with pride and with dripping malice.

You blink awake somewhat and exhale slumberous impulse like smoke. For a moment, you are staring uselessly at the wall, the corner leading out of this secret room.

Direct action is hard. You don't turn your head to look. Instead, you let your neck loll, and your gaze sweeps down.

There is a fish in here, you think idly. It's a big one. You've swam around with what Alcyone has to offer, and the tail you are looking at is a great magnitude longer than anything you've yet seen. It's lithe, and long like a whip, and moves in sinuous circles, rolling through the soma to remain steady. That alone is hard to look away from, like a spirograph's complex path demanding your attention.

You sort of want to touch it, actually? The very tip has a pretty half moon of orange-blue fins, and the scales or skin or what have you, it's soft looking. Matte is the word, a deep rich blue made of cobalt and royal and even flickers of aquamarine.

So you reach out to touch, to see if it feels as felted as it looks.

You just manage to get your fingertips to run along the tail, and it flicks out of your grip. Well, shit, that was quick, especially for something so big.

You follow the motion, letting your body just turn and float, kind of drifting sideways. It's slow, so you're likely going to be alright.

The tail is attached to something person-shaped, which was not what you were expecting. All at once, you look, and it's… hard. There's so much information and you can barely take it all in. That chips at the stable calm in your body, and you whine, putting your hands over your face.

There is a significant moment of stillness before two hands wrap around your wrists. They are dark, that strange rich lush dark blue, with bright stretches of web between each finger. As you lower your hands from your face, you move to stare at what's holding you with treacle slow but _very_ avid interest.

To your genuine surprise, the hands let you move. Turning your wrist, the one holding you turns with you, and you can see little spots up the back of their arms. Each one has that overlapping strange light build of so many oddball colors, you could stare forever.

Could, but after another slow blink you decide you won't, and instead look beyond the pretty spots. The arms, predictably, lead up to shoulders, and then a neck. More spots perfectly follow the line of the tendons there.

And. Face.

"Oh," you say, as you look up into the face of this glowing creature. There is familiar structure, like human and troll faces, maybe a little too much sharpness around angles, but its not the differences that catch your attention. Instead, you are comforted by the sight of dark, full lips. A stern brow. Eyes that gleam amber.

They are wide, almost frightened? Flicking rapidly around your face, your neck, further down, but hurriedly back up to hold your gaze.

This… is a fairly handsome creature, you think in blatant relief. And beyond that, it's downright enthralling! As you unstick your mind a bit from the sticky slowness that seized you, you can get a better sense of what's going on here.

You've found yourself in the grasp of some sort of-- of space mermaid. Merman? There is a flatness in the chest and a weird total lack of nipples, and well actually the bones in the chest seem a little different from humans? Mer, you decide with an almost giddy wash of excitement. A mer living on Alcyone, isn't that just the cat's meow? Catfish meow.

You snicker to yourself, and lean back, looking with a little more focus. Everything feels weird, like your mind's got sealegs all of a sudden, but-- they've got fins! They all seem to be flowing out of their back, and you kick your legs enough to lift up to see. It makes the grip on your wrists tighten, but you're not going far. You just move enough to see how the fins move like layer upon layer of silk through the soma, blue roots and streaks up into an orange that reminds you of campfires with its shifting hues. There's a whole wave of them from the mer's shoulders down to fan around the hips and a bit into the tail. As their tail moves, every fin ripples and moves like forest fire.

After staring at that for a long moment, you drag your eyes back up to the fine face. There's more blue-y iridescence there, like you always imagine from ocean shells, but none of the stiffness.

They have such handsome eyes, you think, and get lost there for a while.

Above, though, is not hair, like the antique cartoons always depicted. There are tendrils, thin but much thicker than human or troll hair, all flowing together. You frown, trying to pinpoint what they remind you of.

Oh, the funny sea slugs, with all those luridly colorful tendril things! The mer's hair looks like a whole lot of that, dark and nearly translucent against their head, but shifting to a bright gold-red-orange further along. The very tip of each 'strand' is bright yellow and maybe glowing on their own too?

They look so lush as they move together in the slight current. You reach up, even as you remember that those sea things, the nudibranches, they're usually poisonous, aren't they? Or toxic? What was the difference again? It probably didn't matter, given the shots and vaccines you've gotten over the years. _Surely_ you are nudi-proof. And it looks so soft.

The moment of anxious stillness breaks like glass when you try to touch their seahair. All at once, three lights flash with familiar warmth. Now that you're paying attention, you can see each one strung above the mer, attached to three long spokes that float above their head. They're tall and bright and regal, like a crown.

Then the long spines press together in front of the mer's face and you feel submerged.

All you feel is disappointment before you just feel drowsy almost-heat. The warmth isn't warmth, but you don't know what else to call it, and especially not now as it seeps in through the windows of your eyes and rushes like syrup against the back of your skull and down your neck. You think you've felt this before, you think you had this exact alien sensation take you, but you lost it with sleep.

It's so very unfair, but this time you are awake, and get to feel how the thick saturation fills you in a way the soma in your lungs doesn't. It flows into your chest and out like questing fingers, digging into the muscles of your arms until you obligingly go loose. When it reaches your stomach, you twitch all over, completely against your will, and let out a deep breath tinged like a groan. Your legs stop idly kicking, and you float, untethered.

Just two hands holding you steady.

Eventually, the spokes unbend, and return to floating above the mer's face. They look… handsome, of course, but concerned. You would stroke their skin, both to console them and just because they _feel nice_ , but your hands aren't listening to you at all.

The mer leans away from you, looking down the tunnel nervously. Their eyes return to you, awe and worry and a bright keenness all warring on their face.

Their lips part and you hear a faint humming croon. Pretty.

Then, dad-fucking-gummit, the mer lets you go, and you manage to let out a tense noise. You don't like this, being so calm and just floating. You don't like it at all, and there's nausea as the mer flicks their tail and leaves your vision. No no, come back.

There is nothing you can do. It's such an awful feeling, you sort of wish you didn't take your medicine. If that's what's keeping you all cognizant and shit during this, you almost regret it now.

Seconds tick by. Minutes. Hours. Okay, you have no idea how much time actually, not the foggiest, but it's too long before you finally feel something wrap around your waist. Even that simple touch fills you with elation.

You're dragged back, turned around. The mer fellow is clearing a space on their crowded work table. Things are being shoved into empty shelves. A few objects are just tossed aside to float freely.

They pick up Terrybot and you manage a faint noise in the back of your throat. They whip their head around to look at you, then down at your pal.

Terrybot is gently placed on top of a basket. Even through your dreamy slow cogitation, you are happy.

There is no moving; you are moved. Those midnight suede hands catch around your ribs and at your elbow, drawing you along until you bump into the table. The mer frowns at you, and you hope you haven't upset them. Maybe you shouldn't have tried to touch their nudihair. But its still so tempting.

The mer inhales deeply, and you see the gills that frame their face flare. Very fetching. You know plenty of humans who don't really go for other species, but you've always prided yourself with an open mind and deep appreciation for the variety the cosmos has to offer.

With a palm against your shoulder, you are eased down and onto your back against the table, the mer twisting and floating up to follow you. You stare at the orange fins as you are situated; they take one of your arms and pull it up, above your head, unresisting as they wrap something around your wrist. The strap bites into the flesh at the heel of your hand a bit, but the mer adjusts it, and you're grateful.

Your other hand is pulled back and wrapped similarly. You can feel the stretch of your muscles in your arms; it's nice and you hum, shutting your eyes for a minute.

There is the lightest touch against the corners of your eyes, and you open them slowly.

They have two fingertips barely nudging you. "'Lo," you mumble, quietly.

Their spots luminate all over, and you get distracted trying to look at them all. The more you see it, the more you think the light isn't amber at all. Maybe you can't comprehend what it is beyond dandy as daffodils. But you are willing to keep trying.

They drift out of your immediate sight. It would be easy to follow them, looking down as they push down your body. Instead, your head rolls to the side. There's Terrybot. You wiggle your fingers at him.

There is not a stitch of concern to catch against you. You are comfortable and placid, and considering a nap. Maybe your medicine is wearing off. You hope you don't forget any of this, it's been so nice. What an intrepid outing, you've located your friend and heirloom, and in the meantime discovered a whole sapient alien.

Or, well. You're the terran here. You've not really been versed on contact theory, but you think maybe it's the other way around? This strange mer has found a visitor from beyond the stars stumbling around their little home.

As you contemplate this very slowly, with molasses still gumming up the gears in your cranium, you feel those fingers against your stomach. They pluck at your swim shorts, and before you can catch up to what that means, they're being pulled down your legs. An encouraging touch urges your legs up, making it easier to remove your shorts.

The mer's thumb presses into the vulnerable skin under the knot of your ankle, and you shudder, nearly pulling out of their grasp. With quick work, your leg is pulled straight, just a slight comfortable bend to your knee, and another strap fits around your foot, holding your heel flat to the table.

The other joins it as you drag your head back around, frowning. Oh. That's what they were up to? You test the bindings, pulling at them, the muscles in your stomach tightening as you shift and move. There is no give at all, and you remember the straps lashed over Terrybot.

With a sudden vivid flash, you remember the dismantled torch you found here, and moan, a tide of nervousness washing over you.

The mer's tail strokes, and you can feel how it makes all the soma flow around them, the movement against your skin. With another distressed noise, you twist one of your wrists, trying to wriggle loose.

Your chin is caught by the mer, turning you towards them. Around their head drifts their crown spokes, and in unison they all spark up.

It's all right to relax. This isn't going to hurt. You are… no, _safe_ is not the word. A concept is rolling around your mind like an ice cube swirling at the bottom of a glass.

Kept. You are kept.

You watch the mer move around, even though it's hard to follow what they're doing. The basket of shiny dust you saw, they scoop two fingers through the stuff and rub it over their lips, like painting a seal over them. Their tongue is thin and _blue_ as it licks over the dust, rolling the dark powder around and coating what seems like their entire mouth with the stuff.

They seem to notice you staring at them, and slow. Blinking at you, the mer purses their lips together and…. blows…. a bubble?

There is a real chance you are gawking like a caught fish-- ha! isn't that a gas?-- but the mer doesn't stop, and when you pay attention, you can hear some reverberating noise as they inflate this ball of… what the hell would it be? Air? That makes no sense and you can feel the way your brow creases in pure bloody confusion.

After a few seconds of this, they seem to close off the bubble, lips bumping it away. it drifts into their waiting hands, held very gently between their fingers.

There is a moment that stretches its arms out and cracks its back, it lingers so long, then the mer brings the bubble down and pops it on your nose.

And _that_ sure feels fucking _weird_ and you go gobsmacked blind for a moment as you are slapped in the face with so much so fast you don't know what it _means_ , is it words or just concepts or just images or just a rainbow condensed to a grain of sand and then blasted in your eye like that's the way you're meant to learn the colors, it's a mess and doesn't mesh with your brain at all, _jesus hellfucker what the sweet mercy is that?!_

Hands fold around your wrists and you're grateful because you are shaking and jerking as the mer lets out a sudden stream of noises, vibrato and whale song and more fucking layers. Everything with this creature is layers that you don't understand, like stacking up notebook pages and trying to read the test through the pages all at once.

You only get one piece of information. Which is imminently fucking frustrating, because you know there was more in there, all in the delicate tension of that bubble of whatever. It's like looking at a dodecahedron and only seeing one face. It _irks_ you.

But. You shudder and shake, and let Dirk wave his glow-tipped spines at you until you sink back like a babe in a blanket, and the wave of absolute incomprehension rolls away like low tide.

The mer fellow, Dirk, gives you an almost apologetic pat on your tummy, and you think he looks embarrassed somehow. As the whip-snap of tension leaks out of you, thank the stars because that hurt, he redips his fingers in the powder and rubs it around his mouth again until the glittery smear is back.

Then, he presses all his fingers into the stuff, and leaves it there, his skin coated in the stuff.

He leans over you, and the glowbobs come together in front of his face again, and you just fall back, fall in a way that has nothing to do with your body, just settle down down down with a long sigh.

Your eyes are half-lidded, but you can't really see anyway. Shapes and colors are unmoored and sliding out of position.

But you feel it when he lays hands on.

He starts at the top, with your hands. His fingertips are steady pressure as he spreads yours, tracing the ticklish skin between each digit, the harder curve of your nail. He pushes your palm wide and lightly pricks the heel of your hand, making you twitch. He bends your wrist this way and that, testing the range of movement, then drags both his thumbs down the soft inside of your arm, down to your elbow.

Oh. That's nice. You shut your eyes and let him. Your body gives no response as he explores your bicep. His palm slides under you, following your shoulder to your back and sliding along the blade. His hand is firm against your sinew and bone, solid in a world of smoke water and bioluminescence.

He counts your ribs, even puts one hand on your belly to make you bend, giving him a better sense of the shape you make. There is a slight drag to his touch, and you think he's moving that dust stuff all over you as he follows a path around your body. That includes him touching a nipple with a curious tap, his constant hum modulating up and down with interest as he feels you out.

Your clavicle strums like a bowstring under his attention, and you stretch your neck up without prompt. His progress stills for just a moment, and you think he's… making note of that? Cripes, is he blowing a bubble filled with everything about you? The idea makes you squirm, confused and hot, and for your trouble he strokes your belly again in what's likely meant to be a soothing manner but isn't at all.

You are caught out; his hands reverse and leave your neck alone unmolested, and you hitch a breath as he touches your hips lightly. There is no way to resist the way heat pools in your gut, you can't make yourself stop, you can only bite your lip as arousal keeps building in you from such simple methodical examination.

Has he ever seen a human like this before? Does he know what he's doing?

You don't know which answer you'd prefer. Your eyes are shut, lids heavy as lead, and all you can do is follow his trajectory and picture yourself, strapped down to a mer's work table and waving your tallywhacker around. There's a flush sweeping from your chest up to your cheeks, but you do nothing as he runs a hand down your leg and puts the other flat against your wiry hair.

His hands leave you, and you almost whine again.

Then, he's back, and you can feel the renewed coating of dust as he traces the base of your cock. It's _relentlessly thorough_ , how he maps you out. He presses and moves your sac around, leaving that powder everywhere, before examining your shaft. And it's an examination, with gradual inching along. He toys with you, figures out your foreskin, rolls down then tries to move it back as you shake, your heels tight against the stone.

A full hand wrapped around your cock feels amazing, and you can't help but moan. Spread like a starfish for him, you don't know what it means when he indulges you and seems to figure it out, squeezing too hard at first, then just right. He's a quick study, and dedicated to his work.

Which at the moment involves-- you don't know, but you can imagine the clinical study, the exploration of arousal reaction in humans or whatever.

With enormous effort, you open your eyes, needing to see if he's enjoying this, or if he's…. disgusted at your alien junk or what.

But his face is almost passive, his eyes steady on your dick as he strokes it faster. The bubble is still at his lips, and you can only imagine what he's collecting about you, what he makes of it, fuck. _Fuck._

Your ass lifts off the table as you come, moaning helplessly. You pull against your restraints, and Dirk lets you, does nothing but watch you fall apart. You'd be liable to drift off if he hadn't pinned you down.

Gasping, you roll your head around, trying to clear it. It's all… a mush in your brain, the… the soft glow of orgasm interlinking with the soft glow he's soaked you in. It's heavy and sweet, and you feel strange. Just… strange.

While you look blurrily up at him, he circles his hand around your, er, emissions, and another bubble snaps into place around it. He taps the bottom of it, and it floats up, up, and nestles in with all the other bubbles that fill the ceiling like a levitating ball pit.

He's still humming away. You shut your eyes and float there, the light reaching through your lids and helping your heart slow back down.

He takes his time with your legs; this distantly makes sense to you, given he doesn't have any. One of the straps comes loose so he can pull and bend your leg around, maybe learning how far you can move, what your range of motion is. It's still soothing in a weird way. The touch is detached, but gentle, and never pushes you to a point of pain.

When he's finished, you bend your toes to help him hook the loop back around your ankle.

He pauses again to redust his hands, and finally his fingers follow the tendons of your neck up into your jaw.

There's pressure against your lower lip, dragging it down. You open your eyes, looking up at him as he leans over you. Is he checking your teeth? What do his look like?

He croons something, and the glow soaks in, like a warm blanket spread over you, and you hold still as he dips two long fingers in your mouth and spreads the powder around. It tastes like sweet chalk, and becomes a little gummy on contact. You leave it on your tongue as he moves on, to your browline and down to your ears. He coats them too before his hands tuck into your hair, and he strokes up along your scalp.

It's nice. It's unfairly nice.

For a while, he cups your head in his hands, and the soma shifts as he floats above you. You can barely glance at him, you're so worn out from everything. But his thumbs press into the apples under your eyes and drag over them, just enough pressure to feel _wonderful._ You sigh, and he hums something, doing it again. He skates over your eyelashes, drags over your brows, pushes against your temples.

You soak it all in and just melt, quiescent and pleased as rum punch.

When he finally lets you go, you roll your head to look at him. The bubble against his lips is a fair size now, and he closes it or ends it or whatever it is, then blows it away from his lips and nudges it up and away, for safekeeping.

He undos your leg straps first. You watch his hands as he removes the wrist straps, and only move to sit up when he takes hold of your elbows and urges you up.

Your hands lay limp and palm up against your bare thighs.

Dirk stares at you, unreadable and distant as the stars. It should make you feel worried, you think. Or small.

But he strokes your hair, and you like that.

This time, you feel how it happens, like an anchor sinking into you and catching against you from deep inside.

 _Sleep,_ it says in radiant light and unshakeable command.

You close your eyes, and relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO WE FINALLY MET THE HYPNOMER. Or we've met him again, but now Jake will remember him, which is good.
> 
> So I wrote up, like, an description of what Dirk looks like, because it got out of hand and I just really enjoy designing aliens so much.
> 
>  
> 
> [In strolls Papaya, who then manages to take all my weird descriptions and ideas and turns it into a beautiful alien boy. Goddamn. /applauds](http://thedoublepp.tumblr.com/post/174086770021)
> 
>  
> 
> Oh and speaking of visual reference, [behold, Terrybot](http://thestarsplitter.com/meet-int-ball-the-japanese-robot-floating-around-the-international-space-station/).
> 
> THANKS FOR READING. THIS IS OVER 9K WORDS. WHY AM I LIKE THIS.


	4. hung up and bent on a stranger

It's terribly comfortable when you finally stir. Before you even pull yourself to the shores of consciousness, you start to squirm around, feeling a firm pressure against your sides. When you push on it, it pushes back, and you hum, letting your head loll sleepily as you take your time rousing. Usually, Alcyone is blindingly bright as soon as the sun rises and that's enough of an alarm for you.

This time, it's dark beyond your eyelids. That alone would be enough to urge you back to sleep but… you feel like you've already slept way too long? Sure, you are comfy as a sunbeam, but you're not tired.

It's difficult to convince yourself to wake up. There is not enough shame in the universe to get you going in the morning if you're not feeling it. But you are not in bed, and curiosity gets the better of you.

Opening your eyes, you find yourself in a softly lit room. The canyon hidey hole you found, with the neat shelves and work table and the mer. But everything is hazy. It's not in a mental sense, to your surprise; there is something between you and the room, obscuring your vision with a pale blue-white veil.

You sit up, and find it's difficult, as the thing you are wrapped up in tries to hold you still. That rouses you a little bit, as you try to push your hands out, extend them from where they're neatly folded across your chest. You are _enclosed_ in something, and it's strong and resists your every move, like pushing against rubber. Stroking your hands against the translucent _thing_ , you find it's… strange, like muscle or sinew. There's a little give to it, but it's very strong, and gets harder the more you push.

You're sitting at the bottom of a tube of the stuff, like a bell jar. Looking up, you can see an opening.

Getting there is hard. You reach up and try to pull the opening wider so you can inch up. But that brings the bottom of the fleshy spongey clear-ish jar tight around your legs. After a solid minute fighting with the thing, you work out a system, stroking your hands up and down the inside of the tube thing to spread it out. It makes it thinner around you, and also taller. Still, it's enough for you to rise out of your comfy sleeping curl and onto your feet.

You push up, extending your legs, and completely fuck yourself up; your fingertips above your head are free and clear, wiggling in the open air. Or, open soma. But the thing cinches tight around your hips and chest, and every move you make brings it tighter against you. It's a fucking pickle of a situation, and you gasp, trying to keep your breathing shallow so you don't create more pressure or anything.

You are pretty sure you are about to meet a very grisly, very stupid end with this finger-catcher menace when the light in the room increases.

It is very hard to turn yourself around, demanding you work one arm then the next down to your chest to give you room to wiggle in a circle. It's a whole production that nearly leaves you winded, gasping as you manage to turn a few degrees.

And there, watching you with interest, is the mer. He has a steady gaze on you, seeming intrigued by your struggle.

You frown at him. "A little help?"

His head tilts to the side, and he repeats your words back at you. It's a slurry of syllables, so far off the mark it takes you a few seconds to realize what he's said to you. But before you can figure out what that means, the mer, Dirk, puts something down on the table and spirals his tail in a graceful loop, coming in close to you.

His fingers stroke the outside of the tube you've trapped yourself in, and you suck in a breath as you feel it loosen around you. The entire organic contraption releases you, enough to shimmy up and out of it.

Or, it would be, but as soon as your shoulders clear the mouth of the jar, he takes his hands away, and the whole thing tightens again around you as you get caught, still wrapped up to your elbows.

"Uh," you mutter, watching him turn away, his attention shifting back to the thing he carried in. It was too blurry through the trap to see what it was (and also you didn't really care?), but now you watch him pick up a long vine-like cord. Hanging from it are oblong pods, each with thick yellow-green rind.

One pod detaches easily as he twists it from the stalk, and he carries it back to you.

All it seems to take is a little squeeze, and the pod opens up, splitting down a seam. Inside is pale yellow stuff, and Dirk holds it up for you to see. Which, all right? You frown some more.

Dirk's face falls and a rush of soma ripples by you as he sighs. He bends the pod with both hands, and the stuff inside breaks into neat little sections. Best you can make of it is a banana crossed with an orange. Which is about when you realize _by criminy are you hungry_.

He removes a section of the podstuff and puts it in his mouth slowly. Which, okay, you are a try-anything kind of guy. Leaning in, you try to get closer to the stuff.

Dirk pats your hair, crooning something at you. His lights are all faintly glowing, which you think helps as he starts to feed you. The first bite, he takes a section of podstuff and breaks it into two halves, and you eat it from his palm.

It's very mushy, maybe not your favorite texture ever, but it's also starchy and fills your mouth as you chew it. You would assume everything from the ocean would be salty, but Alcyone's not a salt-rich ocean, is it? Instead it's… a weird blank flavor, maybe a little floral.

Dirk gradually feeds you four sections before you stop leaning down to take bites from his hand. With an amber ripple of light along his body, he backs away and starts to eat the rest of the pod.

You're not hungry anymore, which is nice. But now you are aware of how thirsty you are.

It's strange to be floating in liquid and licking your lips, but what _isn't_ weird about this situation? At least now you can look around a little easier.

All your things are sitting on the table, evenly spaced out and neat. Terrybot, your swim shorts, the ball lamp, and your filter straw. _That_ is what you need, and you wiggle against your binding, trying to get loose.

Dirk, as he finishes off his snack, shakes his head almost ruefully, watching you. It's not terribly helpful.

You groan in frustration and try the frankly only mer-word you know. "Dirk." Jerking your head, you try to nod at the table.

All of his fins shiver at the sound, and the vaguely annoying, aloof expression on his face slips.

C'mon, chum. You try to point your chin at what you want and say again, more entreatingly, "Dirk." You throw in some of your best puppy dog eyes, in case that sort of thing is universal.

He doesn't have brows like you do, but the shifting flares of color across his skin are plenty expressive, and very compelling. Slowly, he reaches out, and floats his hand over your lamp. Which, no. You jerk your head, and he obligingly indicates your straw. "Yes, please!" You wiggle again, and yelp when the whole tube gets too tight to breathe.

Dirk darts forward and runs his hands over the tube again, and it finally expands around you, going short and stubby. Carefully, you swim loose, still in between his arms. In case he might grab you or something… You vaguely remember the way his hands felt on you; nothing like human or troll hands, soft and dragging against your skin in alien ways.

Maybe he'll touch you again? You float there, waiting to see.

Instead, he passes you your straw. You follow his dark suede hands before shaking yourself and shoving the plasticky thing in your mouth.

It takes a moment to figure out how to drink the soma after so long breathing it. The process almost feels unnatural now, but you are thirsty enough to be motivated, and manage some gulps. A huge mouthful almost bruises your throat going down, but then you relax and drink like a normal air-breathing human being.

The desperate thirst eases, and you tuck the straw into your arm band and smile at Dirk. Then you try to stop, in case showing your teeth is, like, a threat display or something.

While you are drifting awkwardly under the mer's heavy gaze, trying not to fidget and wondering what the hell is going on, you're startled out of your thoughts when he _does_ touch you. Both hands together, cupping your face, his thumbs running along your cheek to the hinge of your jaw.

It's like velvet against your skin, and you gasp, a tingling sensation cresting over you like a wave, all the way down your body to your toes and fingertips. Unsure what else to do, you reach up and curl your hands around his wrists.

The moment you do, the glowy deals that follow his head shiver with tension and arch forward, suddenly very close. Too close for you to look at any one of them, and your eyes flick between them, unsure.

Dirk hums, bringing your attention to him, and the amber light kindles and glows brighter. It's easy to focus on his dark features instead, the bow of his lips and the angular gills that frame his face handsomely.

His eyes. They are some pretty eyes.

You hope you aren't about to go back to sleep; holding onto that thought is hard as it wavers and trips into its own reflection, down through the looking glass, pulling you with it. You are not going to sleep right now. You need to stay awake, and pay attention.

You sigh and nod slowly, and feel him stroke your cheeks again. That is quite nice, perfectly dandy.

Paying attention is hard though; when you were put to sleep, that was such a simple thing, a basic idea. You knew how to follow it without elaboration. Point A to B, straight line. Now, it's a little more difficult, and the command doesn't fit perfectly, like trying to force a jigsaw piece into the wrong slot. But he keeps stroking your cheek reassuringly, and you can do this. Sure, it's like trying to dance to a song you've never heard before, but by gum, you are ready for some soft-shoeing.

Minutes pass as you hang there in his grasp. Then, finally, he lets go, and you sigh at the loss.

He strokes your hair again; maybe it's meant to comfort you, but you think he just likes it.

When he turns away, back to his work table, you head off on your own, back down the tunnel. Back to the COO.

 

* * *

 

As soon at the video began, Jake English sat back on his bed, looking off-center, down from the camera. The pink of his tongue touched his upper lip in thought as he considered something.

"I hope this mic picks up audio alright," he murmured before his eyes finally met with the camera, and he smiled. "Sorry, but Sir Terry is a little under the weather right now, so it's the old, somewhat shitty tablet set up instead."

Jake clapped his hands together, then winced. "Oh, hope that didn't blow the audio. I'm so frightfully spoiled by all the self-leveling software Terry's got. But that can't be helped right now, can it? I'll see him again soon."

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers slowing as they carded deep. His arms flexed as he pulled up a bit, mussing it further. "Anyway, I know it's been too long since my last update, and I'm super sorry about that. I've been having a whale of a time down here on this water world, it's absolutely _incredible_ , and you can quote me on that.

"I've been putting together a sort of feature piece on Alcyone? I think that'd be the best way to go. It's just gone all mimsy with the, uh…" He shut his eyes tightly, bowing his head. Lips moving, he nodded and shot the camera another little grin, opening his eyes again. "Right, there's like a dead zone for communications, it's on this three day cycle, and the window for transmissions is only a few hours! So if your humble host loses track of time, even for a bit, that's just a…. a mess to, you know, fix."

His eyes did not close, but they slid away from the camera again, lids dropping. "It's…"

The moment unfurled like a great bird, stretching out. Jake reached up and ran his fingers through his hair again, stroking over his temple and further back, once, twice…

All at once he shook himself. "Minos' fucking balls, this is not working, _fuck."_

Without another word, he stood up and stalked to the camera, turning it off.

 

* * *

 

You do not feel up to any form of socializing, not even the collective isolation of the restaurants. Instead, the room service menu calls to you, and you lay on your back with the screen held over your head.

Before, you did not worry about the tab you were working up. Now, you can only imagine Jane up in her orbital station, glaring down at Alcyone as it rolls by but picturing your face in her crosshairs. So, you don't treat yourself to any high credit items, as if that makes it better.

It's still a fairly delicious bowl of poke. Some of it has glowy bits; you assume it's either for effect or that it was fished right out of the reef. There is a tart salad of sea-stuff that you didn't like as much, too vinegary. Still, you twirl it around your fork as you stare off at nothing.

It would be easier if your mind went somewhere in particular. But as you chew your fish, you are just thinking about… what? Your mind has never felt this still before. Really, if you were to put a quantifier on your own noggin, _calm_ would not make the Top 40 Chart.

Despite that, you watch the view out your window. This Alcyone place is quite the looker.

Slowly, it creeps up on you that you are sitting alone in your hotel room because you're worried if you ventured out, someone would look at you and just _know_ something was up. It feels like it should be writ large on your face, across your skin, like that chalky dust left. Honestly, the first thing you did when you got to your room was wash up, just in case, _just to be certain._

Certain of what? That no one would know you discovered something out there?

Jane, you think, would be absolutely livid with you.

She wouldn't mean to be and it'd be terribly unprofessional, but the fact of the matter was that if you tattled about this handsy curious fellow out beyond the reef, it would be an instant lock down for the entire facility, no doubt. Imagine the scandal of it, you drawing attention to your visit to Jane's brand new planetary resort, and the next thing anyone hears from you is that you found something dangerous lurking about!

You don't think Dirk's dangerous. And beside that, it's frankly not your job to do this! Your job is drinking minty refreshers and putting together some decent PR. Handling new xeno contact is not in your wheelhouse and it certainly is not a service you offered!

The irate realization makes you feel a little better about things. Wrapping it around you like an embrace, you put your dishes out to be picked up and lock your door for the night.

The breeze coming in stirs through your hair. The lack of sea salt air is really the only bad thing you could say about the place so far. Taking off your shirt, you lay down on top of the covers. One crooked arm tucked around your pillow is all you need before your eyelids are drooping. It's been a long day, a strange day, and you know you will have another one tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

The problem becomes: how are you going to sneak all this stuff out?

You have a small bag packed with a few things. Nothing too important or anything that will be missed. But still more than you can sneak by the lido deck attendant. It's bad enough yesterday when you floated up without your swim shorts. _That_ looked suspicious as all hell. But plenty of other tourists went swimming with their kit hanging out; really, you are sort of a remnant of terrestrial life, where there's more of a nudity taboo.

Still, you've never gone on the sublight net in naught but your skin, and you want to keep it that way.

That is all a distraction from the problem: how the fuck to get all this to Dirk? It'll be a sore disappointment if you don't manage to bring him something.

Eventually, you go for the most expedient option you can conjure up, and throw the bag out the window with a wind up and launch that sends it sailing out a few feet before dropping into the ocean.

That will have to do, you decide, and rush out the door.

You have a spring in your step as you hurry down to the lido deck. It'll be easy-peasy to dive in and recover your bag, you figure. Just as a flag to help you find the right spot, you left a towel hanging on your window, which is amazing poor form, as far as guest etiquette goes, but you will promise yourself it's just this once.

Again, you skip shoes, because what's the point? And under your robe is a whole lot of nothing, which you try to wear as well as you can. You are heading out first thing in the morning, so there won't be many people around to see you defrock. No need to worry too much; once you're in the ocean, you'll probably be gone for a while. Or, that's what you hope.

For just a second, you hesitate, wondering if you should have put something else in that bag. Really, it was hard to figure out what you wanted to bring.

"Hey, Jake!"

As the fates would fucking have it, you nearly topple over in surprise, so lost in thought that someone calling your name has you nearly missing a step and tripping right into the crossbridges. Slapping your hand on the guardrail keeps you from completely eating a mouthful of gleaming bridgefloor.

"Wow," Aradia says. "That was dramatic."

"Sorry!" You straighten and quickly make sure your robe tie is still in place. "Head in the clouds, hello! Funny meeting you out here! I thought you were having shore leave?"

She lifts her eyebrows, and approaches you from one of the paths on the intersection. "Is it shore leave if we don't have a shore? Neither the COO nor the satellite are land-based."

"I almost said the exact thing, yes!" She laughs and it's a wash of relief. "So, heading in to put your nose to the grindstone?"

"Actually, clocking off. I lucked out, got the night shift. Much better suited to Alternian sensibilities. And I just enjoy the darkness," she tells you in a dry tone. You smile, taking a guess that she's kidding. It's bolstering when she grins back, though that fades soon though, back to her default flatness. "So someone said you were asking for me a few days ago?"

"Oh," you say, quieter. "No, it's fine. I had some questions, is all."

"Are you sure? Egbert said you looked pretty distressed. Or, I think he used the human vernacular 'wigged out.'"

"That's a bit much," you say quickly. "No, it's all perfectly copacetic, Dr. Megido, I assure you. Just been… enjoying the reef so much, honestly." The reef. God, you have to go get your bag before it drifts off somewhere or someone finds it or something equally stupid and vexing. "Anyway, I would love to stay and chat, but…"

"Got a hot date waiting?" she asks blandly. When you don't smile, she blinks and shakes her head. "That was a joke. Perhaps I'm off my game."

"Or me mine, I'm sure that's the more likely option." You plaster on another smile, trying to recover. "Have a good sleep, and I'm sure I'll see you around the COO."

"Sure." She gives you a lazy little wave and departs, heading to the other side of the outpost, presumably to her quarters.

Only when she's well out of sight do you let out the breath you've been holding. That was entirely too close! If you manage to keep your trap well and truly zipped until you are subsoma, you will still have flapped your gums too much.

You barely manage to avoid running on your way to the lido deck. Thankfully there are no further barriers between you and the water, even if handing off your robe to the attendant makes you feel a little weird. Maybe you can get your swimmers back from Dirk? But then, shit, what would that look like? A fellow goes out one day, returns sans pants, only to go out the next day and return with them again?

None of this matters; once you hit the soma, you dive deep, looping back under the deck and swimming out to the other side of the Bubble.

Lucky you, it doesn't take much time for you to spot your towel-flagged window, and thus the approximate spot you swung the pack into. The reef is very close to the surface around here, which you think is why the Bubble was added where it was; it makes for a great show at night for visitors. But what this really means is that you find your pack slumped on a chunk of rock, by one of the big anemones.

A few feet to the left and you would have to contend with those grasping stingy paws. As it is, you shoulder the bag and slap one adventurous tendril away as it tries to caress your arm. You'll not have some random sea creature getting a load of you, and kick off to find the crevasse.

The deep dark of the canyon is a little less unsettling now that you know what's inside, but it's still not exactly fun to force your limbs to paddle on down into what you try not to think of as the mouth of this dark place.

At least this time, you can hug the right cliff face, one hand trailing over the wall. It's grounding and helpful, keeping you calm.

Finding the crack in the wall that is a full tunnel still takes a while. When you finally stare down an extra-dark gap and see distant light, all the soma in your lungs whooshes out in a sigh of relief. You propel yourself into the stone corridor, one hand catching against the uneven floor to help pull you along faster.

As you float into the chamber at the end of the tunnel, you can see the mer examining something amid the ceiling bubbles with keen attention. Your arrival must disturb the soma somehow, because his spokes go from drifting alongside his head to glowing and going tense, whipping up.

The light catches you, a warm hand stroking your brainstem like a cat's arching spine. You let go of the strap of your bag and your hand falls to your side.

It dims softly, back to something you can handle, the heat pressed into you dissipating slowly, like fog clearing at midday. Blinking, you turn your face up to his as he swims closer to you.

Reading his expression is difficult already given the subtle differences in your anatomy, and only becomes harder with your mind going all lackadaisy. "Hello, fellow," you murmur, and wave to your pack.

Dirk mimics your greeting back at you, a mess of noise but pleasant in his melodic voice. He avails himself to the pack, lifting it from your shoulder with one hand, his other reaching up to stroke through your hair again. You snicker, absolutely dead certain he's just a fan of human foliage. You were blessed with a very thick, rich black coif. This alien mer would not be the first fan.

After petting you for a few seconds, he wraps his arm half around you, and tugs you along with him, towards the table. Your bottom is deposited right on top of one of the baskets, sitting you on the woven lid as he moves to set the bag down. The clasps are magnetic buttons, and you watch him frown at them, opening and shutting the flap a few times to watch it.

Then he empties the bag item by item, lining everything up. He's a meticulous thing, really.

You didn't know what to bring, nor what you could get away with bringing. There would be interesting equipment in the science labs, but maybe that could wait. For now, Dirk takes out your travel compass with the holographic display, the soma information brochure Aradia gave you, a simple bioscanner, and a thermos.

At the last one's appearance, you pull out of your cozy quiescence, waving at it. "Lemme show you, here. Dirk, here," you say entreatingly.

Dirk gives you a perplexed look, but extends the gunmetal green container to you. With a grin, you show him how it works, taking off the lid and almost turning to put it down before you remember you can just… let it go, and it floats by your head. Underneath, there is a knobby bit that turns and clicks into place easily when you twist it, and a straw flips out.

You have his attention, at least. You demonstrate taking a sip from it, wincing at how lukewarm its gotten. So much for the _hours of heat_ promised. "Coffee," you say, tapping your mouth and holding it out.

Dirk doesn't seem convinced, but dutifully parrots "Cough-fee" back at you before following your example. Immediately, he makes a face, a rictus of shock and dismay that has you laughing, your hands flying up to cover your mouth.

He sticks out his tongue; it's still quite an alarming bright pale blue.

Giving you a _very_ suspicious glance, he turns back to the table, turning the thermos around a few times. Figuring it out takes him no time at all, and he untwists the thing and opens it, spilling out a cloud of coffee and sweetener and synthetic milk. Like you saw him do before, he dips his hand into his black glittery powder and spins a gesture around the stuff, snapping it into a bubble and sending it up into the ceiling.

There really are a lot of bubbles up there. You vaguely remember the sensation of one popping on you and how it struck you with so many bright colors and mayhem, it was like a blow. With that in mind, you resolve to avoid wandering too far up in the chamber. Just in case. Going barmy because you bumped into some bubbles would be a hell of a way to meet your maker.

Dirk's focus is well off you now as he paws over the things you've brought along. That is another big relief. You're glad he likes them.

Being in this cave without the narrow spyglass of his attention on you is a little weird. You're free to occupy yourself, it seems, even if mostly you want to curl up and wait for him to look at you again. It's a tidal force, that bone-deep desire, but not so much you _have_ to follow it.

So while he's occupied, you let your eyes wander a bit. Next to you, on the table, Terrybot's sitting. When you lean in, you can see faint little marks around his chassis, presumably where he was opened up. Thankfully, when you reach out and touch him, he still comes on. You smile and pat him fondly, looking away again.

Unerringly, your gaze settles on the gas-fire plumage that flows from Dirk's back. The shifting hues of blue to brilliant orange are gobsmackingly gorgeous, and ripple and shift even when Dirk's still. It reminds you of a flame dancer. It's beautiful.

You want to touch it so badly, and your body just seems less inhibited in this little hideaway. Before you can scold yourself, you nudge off the basket and float behind Dirk as he studiously works.

Careful not to bump into his tail, you center yourself above it, ankles wide and kicking gently to move in close enough and… just slowly slowly so damn slowly you're a saint for this kind of patience, you extend a hand towards the fanning ribbony firebursts. They are so vivid and bright, you nearly expect them to burn against your fingers. But god, you hope not.

The fins don't burn or sting or numb you. Your fingertips brush against them, and you only have time to register softness before you yank your hand back, nervous.

Dirk stills for a moment, his glowydeals lifting as he glances over his shoulder. Once he sees you, though, he seems to relax, and returns to his messing about.

And you are just going to take that as a friggin' benediction, thanks. Taking a deep breath, you push both your hands into the fins.

By the pillars of flipping creation, yes, they are _soft_. Your hands sink into the fluttery mass like… like nothing you've ever felt before, honestly. They feel like the _ideal_ of silk moving through water, lush and yielding to the slightest touch, curling around your wrists and forearms, ticklishly light. You take a very loose grip of some, and pull your hand back slowly, just to feel the fins slide against your palm, slippery smooth without slickness, just _soft_.

Your mer host does nothing to dissuade you, doesn't pay you a bit of mind. The only sign he even feels it is the shiver of his three crown spines. You hear no complaints, so of course it's fine to just… kick a little closer and push your hands deep into the downy fire silk, stroking the fins with wide open hands. To your delight, they never seem to knot or catch against your fingers like you feared.

Dirk's back flexes a little bit, and the fins somehow fan out wider like a drifting cloud. He's such a fetching specimen of mer-hood, it's a shame you can't tell him so. Maybe you can fix that later? It'd require stealing into one of the labs like a sneakthief, but you think it'd be worth the risk.

One flick of orange slides over your cheek, which feels so… nice, it's lovely. You can't help yourself, can't muster up the restraint needed. No, you just push in, closer, and get up to your shoulders in the fins, letting them drag against your chest and neck and face.

On some level, maybe you should be embarrassed by how you just sort of twine your grip into the fins and nuzzle in until you can't feel anything else. But if Dirk doesn't mind… there isn't anyone else _around_ , ergo it has to be okay. More than anything, it gives you a sweet-sharp recollection of childhood, of being a tot curling up in the fur of your old borzoi hound, Halley. The somatic equivalent of that feeling of... peace and closeness. Something that feels that good shouldn't be a bad thing, surely.

This flawless logic swaddles around you as your cheek finds the approximate spine of the mer. When you peek around you, you are nearly enfolded in orange. Before long, you shut your eyes again and just soak it all in.

Dirk seems content to leave you there for some time, enough that you just sort of lose track of everything again. It could be minutes or hours; time keeps getting all twisty-turny in your head, and it doesn't really matter too much. This _is_ your vacation, and you'll spend it as you like, thanks much.

You are all loosey-goosey when Dirk finally shakes himself, dislodging you, your grip too lax to keep you anchored. He turns towards you, and you blink slowly at him, and crack a yawn, lifting a hand to cover your mouth. The look he gives you is something like benign amusement, just a subtle lift to his brows.

Floating there, you wait for him to do something. Then awkwardly lift your hand and give a little wave.

To your surprise, he does the same, flicking his fingers through the soma. You're unsure if his continued mimicry is an attempt to communicate or more along the lines of how people meow back at their cats. You're also unsure you want to know.

His hands are faintly fuzzy against your arms when he takes hold. Simultaneously, his three spokes come together in front of his forehead again, and the light brightens insistently.

"Oh," you sigh, and are pulled around, directed to sit on the work table again. You drift, in more ways than one, head tipped back to follow that beckoning glow. It feels almost tactile, ghostly tendrils stroking your eyes and leeching tension from your skin. Another sigh spills out of you, and your eyes nearly shut. But it'd be a shame to not see the light anymore, so you open again with significant effort.

This time, you remain sitting, your legs free to laze around and bump into Dirk's hips between your knees. He does take firm hold of your hand, pulling it out and down, and you recognize dimly the feeling of a band being wrapped around your wrist. Instinctively, your fingers curl around the long sturdy lead that holds your arm in place.

He makes short work of your other arm, then begins just stroking your hair. You smile, simmering all over at his touch. It's nice to be appreciated.

Beyond the amber glow pooling in your frontal lobe like warm sap, you are aware of Dirk doing things, moving around… The particulars are totally lost at sea to you. No more than an SOS hurled into the ocean. Nothing reaches you for a moment, crowded out by the dreamy tranquility (or tranquilizer, ha ha) filling you like a goblet of wine.

His velvety fingers feeling you up again is a nice sensory addition to your mental repose. He seems to examine you again, now with a little more focus. He traces particular bits and bobs of you: the shape of your adam's apple as you swallow, your nipples again (you squirm a bit, and he hums), your belly button, the scattering of hair over your chest and down your treasure trail, and some extensive bending and unbending of your legs. Just like before, you find the whole thing _very_ weirdly soothing. You never enjoyed doctors poking and prodding you, but a handsome mer was a totally different bushel of pickled peppers.

When he's finished laying hands all over you and straightens again, you know he bends to mess with something before returning. It's all very hard to track; everything beyond his beacon crown is peripheral and further off.

Something drags along your skin, from the top of your shoulder and down to your bicep. It's not a welcome felty nice touch. It pulls a little, a tingle of something that would make your hair stand up if you weren't subsoma. You blink hard and feel your brow furrow.

Dirk hums again, and strokes your hair. The tension leaks away again, thankfully.

Of course, then, there is a sharp jab against the inside of your arm, and you jerk all over, yelping. Something in your brain flips like a capsized ship, making your heart start racing and your stomach twist like you're going to be sick. "Ow, hey, ouch!"

You look down, breaking eye contact with the crown. He has pricked you with a… a little funnel, it seems? It's only a few inches long, but it feels like its stabbed into you pretty far, and that _hurts_.

You can't move, your arms pulled taut and when you pull, your muscles hurt more around where the funnel is shoved into you.

Dirk clicks and hums at you, stern and demanding, but you stare as he runs his thumb around the lip of the funnel. Another damned bubble starts to form, and this one is red. Or, it's filled with red, the telltale hue of your blood filling the sphere.

You huff hard, and try to calm the stampede in your chest. It's like-- like a doctor's visit before going planetside, right. They always have to needle you a bit. It's just never hurt so much before. As you watch the bubble slowly expand, you wonder why the fuck that is. Perhaps because you were just so… content and distracted, it really set you off? Cripes, but that's unpleasant.

"Warn a guy next time, will you?" you complain. Useless, he can't understand you yet, but something of your tone seems to get across. Dirk responds with a low soothing croon, his hand stroking your shoulder idly.

The bubble gets to be the size of your fist, maybe a little bigger. Dirk's fist, more like. That seems to be enough for him, and he touches the bubble gently. Pulling it loose from the tip of the funnel, he coaxes it upward. It moves a little slower than the other, presumably due to all your personal motor oil weighing it down.

It sluggishly joins its fellows, and Dirk pulls the mer-needle contraption out of you. Thank fuck for that. You try to reach over to rub the spot, but whoops, other arm's lashed in place too huh.

That doesn't feel as comforting as usual, and you bite your lip, unsure what to do.

Dirk reaches behind you, to the shelves at your back you assume, and appears a little lurid green strip of something tensile and kelp-ish. As he fusses with it, a spot in the middle illuminates like a lightning bug stirred to wakefulness. That bit he presses against the puncture point, and it sticks to your skin without trouble. His thumb traces it around, even pressure, and when he lets you go, the little seaweed bandage stays with tacky adhesion.

"Thanks," you mumble, sheepishly looking up at him.

Luminous eyes pierce into yours, so vividly you imagine him staring right into your soul or something. It's a little off-putting, and you hope he's not upset about you for being a baby about some pain.

He hums something, a rising crest and fall of notes that is pretty if incomprehensible. As is everything you say to him, so, fair dues.

He scoops up another clump of glitterdust and coats his lips and mouth again, his eyes barely leaving your face. Which means he's going to start taking notes on you again? Your lips part around a deep breath, and you shift restlessly on the table. What's really getting under your skin about the whole thing is you don't know if it would be better if he was speaking to you, or if his… his alien science work is sort of doing something for you. God, you can feel yourself flush at the thought.

Dirk starts up a bubble and apparently starts dictating some observations; it expands to a respectable circumference as you chew your lip and shift this way and that, your ass pressed against the table, legs tucking under the ledge. If the fates are kind, he won't see you blush all along your face and neck with your dark skin and the dim biological light in the room.

Finally, he touches you. The back of his fingers stroke from your navel up to your sternum, following right up the middle of your chest to the little u-shaped dip of your collarbone.

You tip your head back, exhaling hard, and your gaze just happens to line up with his crown. It kindles to life, and tugs at the corners of your mind.

It's not so simple as quicksanding back into the feel-good jive, but as he drags his fingers down your arms, all the way to the bindings around your wrists, then back up, index fingers circling the knob of your elbow, it helps. Like your hackles being lowered, you try another deep breath, and this time the strain in your limbs starts to melt like candy floss on your tongue. Even more so when he sweeps back down and unties you again, taking both your hands in his and rubbing his thumb against your palms. It feels good, and cracks the dam a bit more.

He's blowing a university lecture into that bubble of his, but whatever. If anything, you like the sound, like listening to recordings of whalesong to help you sleep, or whatever. There are probably better soundtracks to some heavy petting between two species, you've seen enough vids to know that, but it still sort of gets the engine purring regardless.

As he strokes and pets you, it feels less… academic? There is a fairly large chance you are miles off the old rocker, but it _seems_ less clinical as he explores your body leisurely, finding the points he can press into to make you into puddy in his hands. And with that light soaking into your thought sponge, it's better than the most fancy spa treatments you've endured over the years. All the anxiety in you holding you back like an anchor, and he pets and rubs and massages you until the line snips and you shudder under the weight of warmth falling around your head and across your shoulders like a heavy quilt.

When it happens, he takes your face between his hands, directing you easy, your neck turning without a smidgen of resistance. Eyelashes fluttering, you find his crown just above your head as he holds you close and stares at you over the shimmering curve of his bubble.

He quiets, seeming to trail off mid… mid hum, or something. He closes the bubble off and blows it off to the side, then continues to just stare at you, almost… bewildered.

You give him a drowsy smile, and look at his lips. Talented devils, with that bubble magic stuff. They are very full and pillowy-looking. Do mers do kissing? It would be a damn fucking waste if not.

Slowly it dawns that he's looking down at your lips too. Yes, isn't it a marvel, the similarities of anatomy across the stars. It's some weird thing, covalent evolution or whatever. You barely remember the details but nonetheless, it's a many splendored thing, you think.

You hum at him and purse your lips, in case he wants to see.

He leans forward in a jerky motion, stops himself, then closes in on you like an ocean wave, eliminating the distance between your mouths.

And alert the presses, because alien merfolk _do_ kissing. They do kissing wonderfully. Dirk's lips are elatingly plush against yours, cooler than human or even most troll lips, but it barely matters. He is soft here too, so soft its almost yielding, and you pucker and crane up further to get a load of _that_ , thank you.

It's your turn to experiment and test, rubbing your lips slowly side to side to feel how his move, then just pushing in, exploring. It sings heat through you, and you blindly swing your legs to press into the sides of his tail.

Here, he's quiet. No mer-ramblings this time. It injects eager bravery into your blood, and you touch his chest. More soft thick texture, you just want to dig into it.

He makes a little noise, you think accidentally, and that just gets you hotter. Not that you aren't game to be strapped down to play doctor with this fellow, but you also like this, and hum back at him. Nothing offensive in merspeak, you trust.

The hands cupping your jaw twitch. You smile hazily, and part your lips, touching your tongue against his mouth carefully.

Your warm pink human tongue makes first contact with his, cool and lithe and almost hesitantly looping around yours. It's an electrifying sensation for all of two seconds.

Then, it's over. It's done so fast, you keep leaning forward, and there's not hands to catch you, and you drift a little off the table before you blink back to awareness. "Huh, what the devil fucking dickens, hang on--"

But the soma moves sharply as Dirk swims back from you, tail stroking hard enough you feel it. He gives you a look, and you are too blasted loopy to catch the shape of it, whatever expression is on that fetching face.

Then he moves, his entire body like a wave, arms through the soma, tail working, and he moves faster than you can track, down the tunnel, and out of sight.

With a wordless gasp, you push off the table and grab hold of the entryway, bracing yourself. Even with a hard surface to shove against, you are a turtle stampeding through molasses compared to him.

When you look down the tunnel, it's dark. He's already out of sight.

"Oh," you sigh. Your chest feels funny. Like something jarred loose.

Were you… not supposed to kiss back? Did kissing mean something else to aliens? Or, fucking hell's bells, maybe you should have _cooled it on the tongue_ , English. Moving a little fast there, compadre.

Still. You swallow the lump of disappointment in your throat and aren't sure… Should you go back to the COO? To do what, lay in your room and stare at the ceiling and spin your wheels like a gerbil training for a marathon?

Cautiously, you glance around the room. There's still that bubble floating over the table.

Moving back over there, you sort of… flap your hands at the bubble a few times, trying to make enough current to move it. It takes some effort, but you urge it up and up, into the ceiling without accidentally popping it.

Now what.

You really _should_ go back to the COO. Jiminy Christmas, you weren't technically supposed to be out no more than, uh, four hours?

Obviously, that's the right thing to do.

Instead, you pull Terrybot off the table and into your lap. While you loiter around like an unwanted stray, you can watch a vid or something.

You just hope Dirk comes back soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for jake to drown his sorrow at his confusing rejection in some Space Weekend At Bernie's.
> 
> also for funsies, the thing Jake was napping in at the beginning was a very very large tame sea squirt. [photo ref!](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/3e/f7/9a/3ef79a1d73507499dbdb2e42c45b5a0d.jpg)
> 
> sorry this took so long, i got a fucking cold virus that laid me on my ass for like five days. heinous. i'm glad i got another chapter in before the end of mermay. 8) next chapter, things gonna get a lil more touchy. a lil more feely.


	5. in heavy mist, in glitter dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE UPDATE BEFORE THE END OF MERMAY.

Terrybot is not just a round robotic cameraman. It's his main function, in theory, but he also works well as a mobile entertainment device, which has been invaluable over the years. There's something very personal and peculiar in how your Gran designed him, how uniquely built for _you_ he is. Sometimes you consider the popularity of the SkaiaNet FollowCam, all the other people who own one, and a feeling close to jealousy seethes in you.

For the moment, you sit with your good pal Terry on your lap. You're working your way through some vids you enjoy; _Space Weekend At Bernie's_ is a positively mediocre film, but that doesn't stop you from watching it raptly. It brings a smile to your face to watch these two-credit-cons puppeting a galactic kingpin's body around after prematurely removing him from cyro. There's not gut-busting gags to be had, but you smile through the entire thing, and it helps take your mind off what a complete left-footed lummox you are, shoving your tongue into the mouths of pretty aliens, _ugh_. Why did he have to be such a fetching shade of blue? His tongue, too!

You are a walking failure of First Contact protocols as well as the saucier First _Contact_ protocols. A refutation of humanity's reputation as interstellar Casanovae.

What if he never comes back? No, that's stupid. He left all his bubbles here. He'll be back.

All you have to worry about is if he'll be… disappointed you're still here.

You tap Terrybot's screen to pause the vid and wrap your arms around him, leaning your head on top of his chassis.

That is where you are when Dirk returns. Something in your spine hums at the sight of him, making you sit up sharply before you remember to be nervous.

There is something deeply appealing in watching his brand of locomotion, almost hypnotic as your eyes follow the curl and whip-swish of his tail, and how it moves him along in ways that don't really make sense to your humanoid sensibilities but are a treat to witness nonetheless.

Dirk is… muttering to himself? Well, the mer sort of muttering. You could listen to him all day. How does he do that, speak and hum simultaneously, it's beautiful and alien. You sigh softly, leaning your cheek on Terrybot as you track your host around the room.

He's brought more stuff you don't recognize with him, and drifts around restocking his shelves, filling cubbies with like items.

Do mers have decorations? They bally well have to, you think, given how fetching Dirk himself is, ornamental and showy with his spots and fins and all. But everything in this little chamber feels… utilitarian, sort of. Belatedly, you realize that you just… don't think of this place as Dirk's _home._ It couldn't be. It doesn't fit him, doesn't feel like it suits his sensibilities.

Flushing, you look away to the bell-jar flower. Honestly, what do you really know about him? Would he thank you for your fixation and weird fantasies? Your face burns.

Dirk sea-serenades himself for a while, and you tune it out. You completely miss it when his tune changes, more directed. He gives you a tap-tap on your cranium, and you yelp and finally look up. "Erm, sorry?"

"Emseerie," he says, and pets your hair once.

Then, he's apparently brought you more… food? You assume its food, given he actually hands it to you. You recognize that vaguely concerned observant look of his.

This time is not the same pod fruit with the starchy stuff. Now you have a dark chunk of what's maybe rock with a bunch of spikes coming out at random points. You don't know how to hold the thing and worry it'll jab you and kill you, because usually creatures with long stabby things do that.

But the stabby things are not sharp, actually. There is a big dollop of very sticky glue-y stuff that attaches merrily to your palm as you stare worriedly at the… thing.

Maybe the… clear sticky stuff is the food? You tap a fingertip against one of the pricks and with effort pull back from it, a bead of the psuedoglue on your skin. Slowly, you bring it to your mouth.

Dirk lets out a sharp noise and pulls your hand back before you can lick it. A long exhale of soma leaves him, and you feel very foolish. But how were you supposed to know!

His tail loops and curls into almost a spiral as he lowers down to almost your eye-level. Humming at you, he shows you what to do instead, gripping a few spiky bits in each of his hands and pulling and twisting, hands going opposite ways.

The center rocky part breaks on some cleavage point, and inside is a pale cream flesh. Dirk nods, satisfied. When you don't make the next move, he plucks the creamy part out; it holds in one single oblong piece as he touches your chin with his other hand.

When you open up, he pops the thing in your mouth, then pets you again.

You can't even chew it, it's already dissolving in your mouth. Sour tart flavor makes your lips pucker a bit, but there's just enough sweetness to it you can bear it.

Dirk has another in his hand, but as he watches you, he shakes his head and puts it away. Instead, he pulls out another pod-fruit thing. That you understand perfectly, and reach out to take it, hoping to achieve some redemption after that sorry display.

He lets you feed yourself as he works through about five of the urchin rocks. Every time he chomps one of the fleshy bits, his fins and nudihair shivers. Must be a fine mer cuisine. You have no room to judge, given his displeasure at trying out coffee.

As you both share a mostly-silent meal (dinner? or is it only lunch? you haven't a clue), he messes about with other stuff. You watch him work, taking a pouch that looks a bit like cheesecloth and filling it with some sea grape things and a different glitter powder. He also plucks one of the lights right off its stem on the wall and puts it between his hands, crushing it into a slippery paste. That gets added in too, and he holds the pouch shut as he vigorously massages the contents, mixing them up. The biolum fades as he integrates it all.

Mer science is a marvel, really. Like Dirk's some sort of old classical sea witch, but… everything seems just a little less magical and more like when you started to learn about Alternian biotech. Built on different stuff from human tech.

Dirk catches you watching and gives you a watery purr. You've not a clue what that means and just shrug a little, unsure… what else to do. Last time, when he was done with you, he imparted some, uh. Requests before sending you back to the COO. It could be that time again.

Just in case, you put Terrybot on the corner of the table, with some of the detritus Dirk's finished dismantling and presumably taking notes on.

The moment your hands are free, Dirk takes them, and pulls you up from the basket, directing you onto the table again. He lifts and moves you like you weigh no more than a pillow. At least he still wants you for this; that's no insignificant consolation.

He settles you in place, and strokes your hair. Impetuously, you reach up to touch his. This time, you nearly make it before he catches you and firmly puts your arm back at your side. You sigh as dramatically as you can; it's quite unfair for him to get his jollies rocking all knuckle-deep in your hair while refusing you the same luxury.

Dirk gives you a long considering look before shaking his head and seeming ready to get on with the mer science for this session. His lips get lacquered up with his bubble dust, which at this point weirdly gets your blood pumping in anticipation for whatever he has planned. So long as you keep your cool and don't try any more tonsil hockey, you should be fine.

When he starts humming and blowing his notebubble, your fingers grip the edge of the table, head hanging a little as you… wait. Just wait for him to pay attention to you.

This time, it starts with his fingers pressing against discrete points while you instinctively try to hold still. First off is your damn nipples, making you bite your lip. You're not sure what the goal is this time; he just circles each one until they pebble up under the persistent exploration. He squeezes your pecs too, and maybe this is another anatomy study?

But he doesn't linger long, and moves on as you swallow the whine back down your throat.

Tugging your grip on the table loose, he starts dragging his thumbs from the root of your wrist up to your elbow, over and over again. The first is just a gliding touch, but soon he's increasing pressure, each stroke pulling more tension out of your muscles. This time, you can't keep in the groan, it feels too good.

As soon as you do, though, he stops, and moves on again. What is he doing? What's he humming away into that bubble?

Next, he puts a hand on your shoulder to make you lean back, uncurling enough so he can push his knuckles against your navel, rocking his hand and making you gasp and kick your legs a little. That feels good, very good, and you squeeze your eyes shut as he massages you. Plenty of blood is getting the signal to migrate south, but you think that might be his goal? He's only touching you in very, uh. Affecting places. Damned observant of him.

Having apparently proven his point, he leans you back again, and holds your neck.

You pant and look up at him. This is torturous.

He nods to himself, and that shiver of weird arousal settles into your gut, all well fucking stoked by suede inky-blue hands. Your dick's waving around in the soma now, you hope he's quite pleased with himself now.

That soft-felt touch would be a treat to have around your rod and tackle, but that doesn't seem to be in the science cards this time. Instead, Dirk retrieves the little pouch he was messing with before, opening the mouth of it wide and holding it towards you.

You peer inside. There's mush in there.

He shakes the pouch and hums a little more insistently, so you slowly… reach in, unsure if that's what he's wanting.

It seems to be. He closes the pouch around your hand and rubs it against you for a moment before pulling it away from you. You're left coated in the mushy stuff, a slick paste that clings fast to your fingers and palm, all the way up to the heel of your hand.

He does the same with your other hand before brushing the bag aside to float away.

"Alright," you say quietly, "now what?"

 _Now what_ is the three spokes of his crown uniting together and illuminating, sparking to that sort of vivid beacon that you still think should hurt your eyes somehow.

But you can feel it as your pupils go wide, taking a few rapid gasps as it catches you off guard and steals right in through the ocular front doors and shines its lamplight down the corridors and hallways. You've never been _prepared_ for this, but this time it's a warm thing expanding out and out and out, seeping through seams and cracks until you can't see anything else. There's no peripherals, just the light and blinders covering everything beyond the light.

It floods and fills until you feel top-heavy, like you're not so much full of blood and soma, but amber. And the amber hums and shivers and finds the place behind words where it can speak to you in a feeling, a blood hot desire.

You want, very badly, to feel good. And your hands move to make that happen.

Neck first. The hard line of your jaw hides the delicate skin underneath. You dig in and knead, the blunt tips of your fingers moving easily with the muck all over your hands. The stuff clings and sticks, a thick coating against your carotid and up to the nice, rarely-touched little spot behind your jaw and under your ear. You dig in there and let out a breath that's loud and echoing around the little room. Fuck, that feels good.

And it starts to get better in degrees as the muck spreads around and soaks in. Heat spreads like a rash everywhere you inadvertently, unthinkingly rub it in, and you huff in confusion before the sensation changes like witchcraft into a tingly chemical conflagration. It's _hot_ and sticky and you don't understand it beyond how it feels like a thousand little pinpricks of _yesgodplease_ piercing into you, suffusing into your body.

Oh fuck, shit, oh maybe starting on your neck was a bad idea. Squirming, you arch your back, rubbing at every exquisite inch of skin that's been flipped on like an electric charge.

An overwhelmed, nervous voice in the back of your head suggests slowing down would be prudent right about now.

The dazzled bright amber parts of you rub the slick tacky stuff around your hands to ensure your palms are covered and ready to grip your dick.

Dirk neglected to give you this direly needed attention, damn him. From the first clench of your fist around yourself, your eyes nearly roll up, it's already sticky and hot and amazing, the pinprickly feeling so vicious and strong you nearly shudder yourself off the table, trying to-- to curl up, away, into it, just shaking as your legs drag up and down, kicking. Fuck. Both hands gets the muck true and well worked in like a mud treatment that turns to slick buttery smoothness as you grip and squeeze. Lining up both your hands, you can fuck the ring of your fingers, and do so merrily, grunting with each thrust until your arms start to ache.

Soon it's too much, and you whip your hands back, just shivering and writhing as the stingy goodness keeps going, all over your dick, worked under the foreskin, and slathered over your sac. Only now you catch up with the consequences of this as you gasp and squirm in place, unable to-- to abate it or do anything but-- you reach out, forward, wanting to touch. Is he still there? Is he watching this? What the hell does this prove?

You can't see. There's only the light and the fire across your skin. Maybe if you just… get off, it'll let go? You don't want that to happen. You need it to, though, or you're going to drive yourself batshit up the belfry from how _much_ it is.

The whining probably isn't helping anything, but you can't stop doing it. Too much, too much. Like you rubbed this xeno lube into your blood and it's pumping around you like an infusion of magma.

You need to get off. You need to feel good. Feel even _better._

Hitching a leg up, you get your foot on the table and wiggle your hips until you scoot down enough. Bumping your hand into your dick makes you almost yell, but you need this, to reach down and spread your ass with one hand and rub over your hole with the other.

The sharp honey-quilled sensation starts up fast, and you're not sure it's a good idea to massage your rim with your fingers and coax it open, working in the stuff until your fingertips dip in, moving it in further, deeper, scraping your palms to gather more of the silty stickiness to shove inside you, rocking your fingers in and out and in again to get it in further, shaking and starting to sob- but oop, you're definitely doing all that. Yep. Shit.

You barely understand your goal until you get close to it. Curling your fingers and shoving them in is not quite doing the trick, getting you so close but not-- not there. "Oh c'mon please," you groan out, voice sticking like a key in a lock.

Pulling up your leg makes the angle better, and after a second a nice lovely felty hand helps, just pushing against your leg under your knee, urging it back further.

Yes. _Perfect._ You finally rub two fingers against your prostate, and the sensation spreads there, and you writhe and hump back against your hand. That's the fucking ticket. Now you can just well and truly lose your fucking marbles already, excellent.

The hand you don't have shoved up inside yourself gets taken, pulled away from you. Your shoulder stretches with the effort to follow where its taken, flung out wide.

A band goes around that wrist, and you groan as its strapped down.

When your very busy and diligent and preoccupied hand is pulled unceremoniously out of you, finally you struggle, because _no no you're getting there, it's so hard, please._ Please. You're chanting that like a prayer, "Please, please, please," incessant and senseless as you are pulled taut, wingspan stretched to its limits, and your other wrist is lashed down.

He doesn't understand you, but you think _this_ should be bloody universal! Wanting to try another tact, you force your eyes open, planning to-- to stare entreatingly at him, to beg him with a pathetic glare, please, he can't leave you in this state, it'll drive you out of your skull.

You can't see him. You can't see anything, but amber. And once you do, you won't look away again. A hoarse, sad little cry works out of you, and you wiggle against your restraints, but you keep your eyes open.

You can't see but you can feel. The twinge in your legs as they are pushed up and wide. You're already pleading, words dissolving into incoherent moans as you feel the gorgeous lush texture of his skin between your thighs. When you rock your hips, your dick drags against him and it's amazing, it's so much you want to cry.

Then you are saved, _rescued_ from the jaws of madness, by his own fingers finding your hole and pushing in, replacing yours.

His are longer, and presumably he feels where you lathered up with the tingly good stuff, because he starts softly stroking inside you. Your ecstatic litany changes, a grateful and desperate, "Thank you, thank you fuck, thank you," as he works that pleasure bump with fast, tight circles of his fingertips.

The tension in your gut strings tight. Your head lolls back, eyes closing as it rushes towards you.

That is when it stops. Dirk's masterful fingers go still, slide away from where you so keenly need them, and you groan in frustration.

You open your eyes again to see what's up.

And he presses down again, working up those circles again.

The cycle repeats once more as you get so close, right to the edge of coming, your toes clenched and curled in the soma as orgasm is just _there, waiting_... only to stop the moment you shut your eyes again.

"Fuck," you sob, and open up again, looking up, finding the epicenter, the benevolent sun shining down on you with a razor-blade of pleasure that you just want to cut you open and ruin you.

It will. You know it will. But not just yet. For now you have to focus. Or, focus on the right thing. On the sweet warm glow that's cascading in you.

It's funny, how when you give it the attention it deserves, it's so much… bigger. There is a chance your cock has never been harder in your entire life, and that's certainly impressive and important, but holding onto the light is taking so much effort. It's leaking out of your grasp and dripping over you and you're trying so hard to keep it all in one… one mental spot to keep an eye on it, but it's too much to hold and getting bigger and you can't.

But you are doing your very best, and that's good.

It feels deafening, making everything beyond the amber glow and the suffocating pleasure unimportant. You lay still, on your back, trying so hard, and feeling the-- the sensations and sticky goodness and the brilliance overlap and fold together and overlap again, over and over until they are a singular harmonic thing. It's huge and impossible to keep a mental grip on, but it's fine, nothing else exists and that's fine.

A hand cups your neck, sliding through the slurry on your skin. A thumb strokes along the faint bump of your airator where it runs with your adam's apple. Then, it pushes up, firm and perfect against the soft place right under your chin.

You think you're still. There is no point in being a shimmying rascal when everything is the same amber drenched warm tingling feeling everywhere. You can't move closer or away, so you just hold still, and hold _on._

There is nothing to tip you over; you're just _there_ , coming, breathing deep in and out and soundless as you melt all over, like all the-- the braided and layered blanket of the world you're in just presses flat on you and for a second you _are_ the light? Maybe? What else could feel so big and good? Incomprehensible and encompassing?

Then

it fades, and you're human again, laid flat on your back, panting and bereft.

Things come back one by one. Dirk's stroking your arms, all the way out to your bound wrists, then back to your shoulders, rubbing and petting. He strokes your hair, your temples, and then predictably back into your hair again.

When you can see again, you blink a few times. Everything is fuzzy, like after you've stared at the sun and how it leaves that green-black phantom in its wake. It vanishes a little more with each firm blink, though, and before too long you look up at your-- your erotic torturer, good fucking lordy be.

He still has a fucking bubble on his lips. You watch him as he tips his head back and blows it away, up into the rest.

You want to ask what the hell sort of observations did he glean from all _that_. The embarrassed indignation is on the tip of your tongue.

But… it's not important, is it? And he won't grok a word of what you're complaining about. Besides, it's a little like getting a gift horse and turning it into glue.

Everything that just happened was… _something._ When you try to think about it, rewind just a few minutes, it's still too much to think of. Too intense and layered and strange to pull the discrete parts out to examine. Rather, it's just one big _thing_ , pure and atomic.

So you soak up the nice petting until Dirk releases you. For a second, you're worried he's going to send you back to the COO. The idea of swimming back is enough to make you ache; you're so tired, and with your luck, you'll pass out mid-swim.

Something much better happens, though. Dirk pulls and tugs you closer to the edge of the table and draws your hands up, lifted until you can settle your arms loosely around his neck. His hands cup your ass and coax you up, against him.

Everywhere is soft alien skin rubbing against yours. Shamelessly, you pull in tighter and rub your cheek against his chest, marveling at how he feels. It's like getting a reward for good behavior, and your behavior has been absolutely sterling. You soak it up merrily, humming and petting.

Where your hands have settled, you can feel the silky-wet-softness of his fins. WIggling up further, you get your hands in there and sigh at the thick lovely sensation.

Like this, you can hear how Dirk's murmuring hums feel in his skin. The vibration seems to bounce around and fold into something sweet. You hum back at it and shut your eyes.

He pats your ass, which knocks a snicker out of you. Man alive, you feel fucking bushwhacked and beleaguered.

The next thing you are aware of outside of how much you just adore his funny suede skin and pretty fins, you feel your feet bump into something weird, making your toes curl up in defense.

Dirk says something in his mer-speak, and you drag yourself up to look.

The big bell jar plant is gobbling up your feet, it seems. Or, the rim of it is opening wider and wider, which is a little unsettling to watch.

But Dirk gently takes your hands off his shoulders and guides you down, floating you into its translucent sinew flesh.

It's not the least existentially nervewracking experience of your life, but you're also too tired to give a flying fig. You tuck up so you fit, and feel the walls of the plant come up around you, its mouth sort of sucking and lipping at your shoulders.

Dirk, the blessed handsome alien he is, cards both his hands into your hair. You smile and duck your head, letting him really get in there. It feels nice. Comforting.

Then he strokes the tubey thing, and it rises up, enclosing you. As it tightens, it comes up against you with the perfect give and angle for you to rest your head against it and wiggle your shoulder in. If you can't have your intergalactic class hotel bed, this is not a terrible substitute.

You close your eyes, and relax.

 

* * *

 

It is the darkest of night as you sit on one of the patio common areas built into the intersection of three bridges that lead off to various parts of the outpost.

Which, for Alcyone, means it's still pretty damned bright out. That's sort of how it goes when you have a two-moon situation, it's never fully dark out ever again. Or, maybe it is. You could ask for one of the astronomers and see what they have to say on the topic.

Your tepid and fleeting curiosity will have to wait. You are on a stake-out.

It's not a very impressive one, of course. You have a cushiony bench to sprawl over and a Felicity Cherry SuperNova on the little table next to you, fizzing and sparkling like its got diamonds in the glass. It doesn't, obviously, but it's delicious and you sip it, holding the little ornate umbrella away as you toy with the straw.

The funny thing is how air tastes. It's a little weird now, honestly! Before you would have said air was devoid of flavor but now that you are taking sips of Alcyone atmosphere in through your nose, there is something off about it. Like when you bite into an apple but it was grown on some planet dense in a non-terran mineral so it just tastes off even if the texture is the same.

It's like that, but with air. You probably look like a weirdo taking random deep breaths to hold them and taste the air, but more likely no one even notices you because it's late and no one cares.

You suck a little of your drink up, buzzy and _very_ strong. Cocktails that kick like a horse aren't your usual fare, but it has been a long day and you feel like you've earned it.

Are in the process of earning it, you correct yourself, and smile to no one in particular.

The purpose of the stake out is to get your mitts on a translator device and am-scray the hell out before anyone notices its missing. This mission isn't so simple as a smash and grab, oh no. First you had to wander around all the lab spheres, casing the COO until you found the communications and interstellar relations array. CIRAs are part and parcel of any outpost, one of the vital components of any expedition or colony or spaceport or _whatever_.

And just like any kitchen would have a fire extinguisher, any CIRA would have a translator device.

They aren't great. Most people found it funny, how advanced old classic 'science fiction' depicted translator devices. Little earpieces or fancy brooches or _unseen microbes_ that just so happened to omnitranslate anything anyone said. Heavens to fucking Betsy, that would be incredible.

But the Babeltech is not nearly so fashionable. Nor so convenient. It's barely handheld!

Still, you need it. Since the thought crossed your mind, you can barely think of anything else. There's a chance it won't work with Dirk, given how goshdarned fucking weird his communication is. But you have hope in your heart, bolstered with liquored courage.

So the hours tick by, and the foot traffic on the bridges winds down as people either start their shifts or head to their quarters for the night.

The CIRA is run by a mostly human team, just by a stroke of luck. And humans are usually diurnal.

Your stake-out has lasted about three drinks and a big bowl of snacks, but finally you are watching the door for the last of the human attendants to just hurry the hell up and _leave_ already. If they knew you were being so patient, maybe they would move it along. Alas.

You're finishing off the last cherry in your drink and worrying you might have to order another one when finally you see the last technicians leave the building, talking quietly and not even glancing your direction.

Bullseye. Paydirt. Yahtzee.

Making a bit of a show of it, you heave yourself up and weave over to the waiter's station. At least one stumble is _not_ on purpose. You plonk your empty drink down and ask for another, but this one with more cherries.

The attendant gives you a _very_ concerned look. You are pretty sure the next drink is going to be heavily cut with soda water. But that's fine; they have to leave to go get it.

As soon as the waiter leaves to make the trek to the bar, you rush into the CIRA building. In the process, you nearly take a guardrail to the gut, but you don't actually fall, so that's fine.

Next time, you will do your stake out with Shirley Temples or something.

The building is empty when you duck in. The lights have been turned down, and all the computer stations are dim. Fortune favors the bold, and there are no stragglers hanging about to trip you up.

The Babeltech is sitting on a side wing. It has a significant layer of dust on top of its opaque yellow casing. With a majority alternian and human population here, it's just not really needed.

So no one is going to notice its missing. Especially not when you crack open the case, remove the components inside, and shut it again. It's empty, and still pristinely covered in dust. Perfect.

You shove it into your satchel. It _barely_ fits; you can't even get the flap to fold over it neatly, the clasps can't reach around the bulk of the thing. But the device is not immediately visible and it's not like anyone is going to suspect you of stealing a mostly-superfluous bit of kit.

Superfluous to CrockerCorp. Not to you.

You smile all the way back to the Bubble, but that fits in fine with your tipsy cavorting. Getting a bit sloshed is a foolproof disguise in resorts, and the only person who bothers you is the lobby greeter, who asks if you need assistance getting back to your room.

The "without smashing your face into a wall, you drunken lout" is implied. You merrily ignore it.

Your bag strap bites into your shoulder, and you can't find it in you to mind, already shivering with excitement. Tomorrow can't come quickly enough, and when you sleep, it's the sleep of the intoxicated and victorious.

 

* * *

 

Tomorrow. The morning.

So you throw another thing out your window and into the ocean. You really don't have another solution for that yet, and you don't want to get in trouble now that things are going so well.

One mint refresher and one croissant with grubsauce and sliced banana-- it's a great mix of salty and fruity, you don't know why the bistro cook gives you such a look-- and you dive.

Grabbing your package, you tuck it against your chest with both arms as you make your way to the crevasse and then the cave. Now, finally, that hindbrain fear has eased enough you feel like whistling cheerfully as you swim into the big dark maw and through the inky blackness to the tunnel.

More than anything, you just hope the doodad functions. There's a chance the soma is going to play amok with it, which would be a devastating tragedy. But also, it could be a dud, like places that put fake security panels on the wall to make it look like they're protected.

There is only one way to find out, though.

When you arrive, your mer is not around. You put the Babeltech gear on the table and give Terrybot a good luck rub on his smooth dome, then swim back out to the entrance of the tunnel.

All around you is dark, except for where the light from the reef above streams down in a solid ray of glimmering light. You float down to sit on the edge of the tunnel and use your filter straw to drink up a bit. You forget to do that when you're hanging around with Dirk, always losing track of time and your thirst. It's nice he keeps you fed, though. Very considerate, really.

You're on the verge of heading back in and pulling up another vid on Terrybot when you see a very faint light off to the right, further in the depths of the canyon where it seems no life shines. The encroaching blackness makes it hard to spot, but you can see blue and amber and orange, and let out a relieved sigh. There the old so-and-so is!

You wonder where he goes when he's not here. Somewhere further along the canyon? Maybe your earlier guess was right and there is an opening somewhere deep in the darkness.

That can wait. Now, you watch Dirk swim over to you, looking you up and down slowly.

You wave, and push off the ledge to kick your way down the tunnel. After a few feet, though, he grabs hold of you, his hands sliding under your arms. He carries you _much_ faster with little effort, like being tied to a subsomatic rocket or something.

Maybe its your imagination, but you think he holds you a little longer than needed. You paddle around to face him and smile.

He tilts his head at you, flashing once with glowy spots all over his skin. Then he reaches up, and you bend into his hair stroking, biting your lip to keep from snickering out loud at him.

After this greeting, he swims away from you, towards the table.

And well if he pulls his usual job dismantling the thing to see what's inside, the entire plan will be dashed, won't it? Sure, he seems a deft hand at his gadgetry, but for all you know, this is the only Babeltech on Alcyone!

You swim-sprint over to him, getting in close and under his arm as he reaches for his bubble powder. "No no, nope!" Grabbing the device, you pull it in against your chest. "Don't crack this open like a clam, I don't know if I can get another."

He frowns at you and tries to take the Babeltech from you. You twist it behind your back and shake your head. "Wait. I want to show you."

There's a little moue of annoyance on his face and you see his crown spokes shiver.

That gets you moving; you plonk the thing back on the table. It's a boxy, inelegant piece of equipment with some big unlabeled buttons that are really buttons, clicky and weird to push. You're a fan of old stuff usually, but presently you're just worried about this claptrap solution working subsoma.

All you can do is try. You flip up the sides of the thing and pull out the neuralmajigs. Each is connected to the main body of the Babeltech by long thick cords. That's… maybe a good thing, given how cordless connections tend to go to shit down here. Small mercies.

"Please trust me," you murmur as you glance over at Dirk. He's watching you closely, and you know he could make you go all dreamy and silly any second.

But he doesn't. So you unravel the pieces, and start putting them on. One is a line of three nodes that you push into your skin, against your temple and spaced out along your forehead. The next awkwardly afixes to your throat. The last piece is easy, and sits in your ear. The only remaining cord floats around uselessly until you plug it into the right port, where it'll hopefully draw power and _not_ electrocute you.

Does soma conduct like water? You have no idea. You think the information Aradia gave you explained it, but that feels like ages ago now rather than a few days.

Once you're all done up, you turn the box around and open the other side, pulling out an identical set of thingummies.

Dirk leans back, using a flick of his tail to make a little distance between you.

"Wait, wait!" You chew your lip, aware of the very very delicate nature of this situation. Ugh, all this shit would be so much easier if you could speak at _all_. But that's the point of doing this!

"Please," you say, giving him a long stare. Hoping he'll understand your tone if not your words, you hang there, impotently holding the other nodes, waiting.

The expression on his face is distinctly unhappy as he lashes his tail a very times, stirring up current and looking around, as if someone might jump out of the shadows to give him another option.

You let out a whine, and his tail whips around again.

Fucking finally, he hums something and braces himself on the table. Closing in on you, he bends down, coming into your reach. _Ohthankgod._ You try not to just dive at him, sure a sudden move is going to break this moment of extended trust. Hands shaking, you start attaching the nodes across the top of his face. Oh. You could totally just reach up and touch the tendrils he has for hair.

But no. You make the enormous personal sacrifice and keep this simple. Face nodes, then neck node.

The earpiece is puzzling. You frown at it, then at Dirk for a moment. He doesn't have ears, just a layered fan of gills leading down his neck.

As you try to guess where the hell this one should go, Dirk blows out a stream of soma and takes it from your hand, pressing it to one of the larger illuminated spots on his chest. "Thanks," you tell him.

Theoretically, you're ready to go now. But this thing doesn't come with a manual. Or maybe the manual was in the box you stole it out of. You haven't the foggiest. Things would go much easier if you could ask someone, but that's out of the question.

The analog flip switch turns it on; the buttons light up. Great. You drag your finger over other buttons. As you do, the little shitty screen spits out options at you. It's a lot of vernacular that you've never heard of.

Fuck it, Dirk is only going to humor you so long. You take a stab in the dark and punch the green button, then a few of the arrow keys, then green again.

The nodes on Dirk's face light up pale red. That's something! You wave a hand near your face to check yours; the red reflects off your palm. Okay, progress!

The screen blinks and changes into a loading bar and a spinning wheel. You have to resist the urge to clap excitedly, because that looks promising! You're really doing this!

"Pillars of blasted creation, please work, please," you whisper to the machine as you stare unblinkingly at the screen. It fills slowly, the black progress bar dragging all kinds of ass as it works its way up to the 25 per cent mark… then to 50….

You can feel the movement of Dirk's tail as it starts moving irritably again. Shushing him, you pat his hand, eyes still fixed to the display. Just hold out a smidge longer, chum.

Alright, it's more than a smidge. It's like an immutable law of the universe, that the last 15 per cent of any download or installation or computation will _unerringly_ take four times longer than it should.

Holding your breath is a bad idea, but you do it anyway for the last block of the progress bar. Then, _then_ , it fills, and the screen goes blank.

Your hand hovers over the buttons, unsure what to do.

But you glance at Dirk, and the lights on the headgear have gone _green_.

Heart leaping into your larynx, you let out a squeak of noise, startled. Green means go!

"Did that work? Please, did that work, because if it hasn't I think it's going to be about the biggest disappointment of my life," you say, panicked and quick.

As far as first words go, they are nothing to write home about. But that hardly matters a lick as you watch Dirk's amber eyes pop wide, his jaw dropping.

Oh fuck. You suck in a shaking breath. "Do you understand me? I've never used this stupid contraption before, but-- hello?"

Dirk is frozen, and suddenly you worry this is bad. What if it's like when he tried to do the bubble thing on you, and it's overwhelming and terrible, and he doesn't understand? Already you can feel the elation in your smile start to drain out as a trepidation starts to grow in you. You swallow, scared to speak, because what if--

Suddenly, Dirk breathes out hard, and it's not just air, it's a gust of anxiety and awe and something really goddamn surprised. He speaks, and you hear the words from his mouth and the vibration folded underneath, feel them lace together. Nothing lines up quite right, like watching old, old vids with antique style dubbing, but what you hear in your earpiece is crystal clear as he says:

"Wait, you can talk?"

And well. There are worse first words, alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Now we can get the plot rolling. /rubs hands together
> 
> Also I have probably not stressed and worried about writing porn this much in ages. I weirdly could not find a lot of reference for the effect I was going for, sooooo I made it up? Anyway uh I hope it's not terrible.
> 
> Upcoming: the boys talk! and probably make out! after dirk explains that rudeass thing he just said!


	6. glossolalia and other gifts

The pause after that takes its time to settle into the chamber. You don't think pins could effectively drop through soma, but boy fucking howdy, you would like to shake out a kitchen drawer to find out right now.

Another thing that is apparently universal is the look of extreme contrition that comes right after you shove your foot in your throat. Even for creatures without feet. The dawning horror on Dirk's face is kind of riveting to watch, and more than a little satisfying.

He looks to the device on the table, then back to you, eyes luminous and wide and a little scared maybe. "I would think… upon translation, that sounded more than a little condescending."

"Yeah," you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Fanning out from the center of his chest is a spark of amber light, spreading over his shoulders and arms, and rippling out through his body. Maybe the mer equivalent of a blush? And under it, you can hear a hum, but with the Babeltech, you can tell it's embarrassed and blue-hot and chafing against Dirk calm like sandpaper.

When he doesn't say anything else, now _you_ start to feel awkward too. "Do you… want to try again?" you offer.

"Try again," he repeats. "Yes. That would be good." Then he _stops again_ to your absolute dismay, looking at you, at the device, and then finally up at the ceiling of bubbles.

You are inches from taking off the nodes and writing this off as a complete disaster when Dirk finally looks at you again and says, "What are you called?"

Now that is a very nice opening volley, especially with the undercurrent of violet softness and timid curiosity that comes with it. You feel like you've stumbled onto the secret language of bees, all these subtle buzzes you can piece apart. It makes your own simple human response feel a little inadequate, but you smile as you tell him, "My name is Jake. Did I guess right that you're Dirk?"

"Yes," Dirk says, and looks bereft again for a moment.

"What's wrong?" you ask.

He blinks luminously at you. "Nothing is incorrect at this moment. I am trying to select which queries are the most short-term important."

The phrasing is just a little oddball, and you snicker at it. "Right then. I've got one. Why in the sam hill did you think I couldn't talk?"

"I think the device is functioning badly," Dirk says slowly, confusion rolling out of him.

You sigh and try again. "Why were you surprised I could talk?"

Dirk looks and sounds distinctly uncomfortable, the feeling so intense you break into sympathetic gooseflesh. "I meant like me. I know you rely on verbal talk, but it is one-stream. And your response to my greeting was negative. I thought you could not speak like me. So this was a surprise."

"So you don't think I'm stupid?" You flush all over as soon as the words leave your mouth, but it's… a fairly front and center concern right now.

"No. This is difficult. I was sent to observe the invaders. I know you are not stupid." But you can hear and feel the fissure of _something_ there, something Dirk is hesitant to say. And holy frig, is this how mers communicate? They just hear each other's emotions in every conversation? That's a little terrifying.

And that provides a whole other thing to ask about! You want to know more about what Dirk thought of you, especially given-- well you sort of thought you were getting along really well so far. Did he agree? But you can't follow that train of thought because another locomotive has just shoved the other out of the station. "Invaders? Why do you call us invaders?"

"You are invaders," Dirk says, and the low sweep of his subvocal feels very much like a _duh, obviously_ to you. Then everything goes tart and sour, but you don't think at _you_ per se? "Why am I doing this? The Queenarch would strangle me. Listen to me." He lifts a hand to reach out and run the back of his fingers over your arm, and his crown begins to illuminate, not yet blinding but enough you feel it start to make itself comfortable. Make _you_ comfortable. "What are the invaders? What purpose did you come for?"

You reach up and fold your hand over his arm, sighing a little. That feels nice. It's kind of helping you cool your jets a bit, even. "Well, for me, I'm just a tourist. I'm supposed to do all this stuff to promote Alcyone, but honestly I've gotten super off track on doing that." You tap a finger against him. "Guess who's fault _that_ is. And we're not invading, we're… humans, mostly, a few alternians. Just a lot of scientists and people who love a good swim! We don't even have an armed force, we're not here to hurt nothing."

As you speak, Dirk leans in further and further, face pulling tight. He's trying to follow. Well, the egg is certainly on his face; he's the one making you a little bit loose and loopy, and this is what he gets.

"Human. Alternian. What are you?"

"Prime grade human!" You snicker. "Or, uh, just human. Wait, what about you? I've been thinking of you as a mer, but I have no idea!"

"I'm of the People," Dirk says quietly, face still pinched as he thinks.

"That's not very descriptive," you mutter.

"It describes," he says. "You are recreational visitors. From where do you come?"

"Oh, uh." That one is going to be tricky. "Space? Do you… know space? You're all aquatic, or somatic I guess, do you know what is up and above the ocean?"

"Stars. Moons." He twitches all over, looking away to his table. You watch him reach for his bubble dust stuff before stopping and humming, all mixed up and overwhelmed. "You create homes above the surface. What is the purpose?"

"You know, this Babeltech thing sure makes you sound brusque," you inform him.

"This is not my fault. It is your technology. How does it work, because there is a chance--" he shakes his head hard. "Focus! I need answers."

"The COO-- okay." This is the right time to employ a modicum of patience. You grab the edge of the table and draw yourself onto it, settling in as you put your words together. "The floating buildings, they are called the Calypso Observation Outpost. The COO. It was built to study this planet, Alcyone, because the liquid the ocean is made of, soma, does not act like liquid on most other planets, water." You pause. "Did all that make sense?"

To your shock, Dirk lets out a sharp series of breaths, and its incredulous and _amused_. Holy cow, was that mer laughter? "No, it does not make sense, but that is acceptable. I will understand eventually." He calms. "You come from… space. Not this world."

"Not this world," you confirm quietly.

Dirk nods quietly, and falls silent, his eyes slipping away from you to a great distance, thinking.

It might be nice to give him time to think but he's not the only one with questions! Honestly, given the last week or so, you are chock-a-full of your own wonders and inquiries. So you nudge his tail with your toes gently. "So, what about you? You've been shadowing around the COO all this time, and making people forget whenever they catch you, right? That's a little sketchy, fellow. Maybe you think we're _invaders_ but you've been so damned sneaky, no one knows you exist! And if they did, they would do… do things differently!"

Dirk flashes all over, his fins puffing up, irritable and embarrassed at your questions. "I don't want to explain. I am an observer, I'm not to be seen. No invader can know I am here. My rules are to have no contact."

"Then what…" You frown at him. "What about me? You have had quite a lot of contact with me!"

"That has to be different," Dirk says, looking down and away from your face. "She will understand when I explain. And when I share all I've learned."

"All you've learned from me!" You kick him, gently. "I sort of got that I was helping you learn, but what about planting one on me?" Wait, that won't translate. You have to just say it. "You kissed me!"

And oh, Dirk curls up at that, his tail looping in a tense twist, his hands folding and unfolding, fidgeting fucking horribly. "You did not leave. I sent you back to your home to sleep, and you came _back_ , you came into my small work place, what was I intended to do?"

"I mean, I can't fault you on your science stuff, pal, but… what about the kissing and the-- the laying hands all over and getting all personal with a guy's two-by-six?"

"Twelve," Dirk says, then frowns right back at you, looking _baffled_. "What? What does that mean? Your device is behaving poorly."

"I think you can infer what I mean, but fine!" God, your face is fucking burning, you're going to boil the soma around you from the heat. "I mean the…" You wave down at your dick, hoping he'll understand, cripes.

The way he looks directly at your dick makes you feel like melting into the stone table and disappearing. But his constant hum of upset confusion fades at that. "That was part of my experimentation."

You huff out a breath. "That's it? That's your answer?"

His tail uncurls from its tense little corkscrew with a wide whip of movement. "Yes. I had to ascertain your reaction to stimulus while under the seathrall. It is normal exploration of parameters for downcurrent creatures."

"Now who isn't making sense," you grouse.

"You are not making sense," he assures you. "No more questions. There is so much I have to do. This Babeltech has potential, but I need to understand its mechanics so I can share with Roxy." His spokes arch higher around his shoulders, and brighten by degrees. "Explain it."

"I don't know much! I've never used it before now, actually. They aren't very common anymore. But I think it touches your thoughts and figures out what you want to say, then moves that information to the other person and shares it." Hunching forward, you look down at the floor, watching the long stretch of Dirk's tail and it's orangey fins as the shift around. "No idea beyond that."

Dirk hums and puts his hands on the device. "That is acceptable. Most invader technology is very simple."

"Well, aren't you fancy," you mutter. "Mer technology is more complicated?"

"No. Not complicated. It has wider utility." He glances askance at you. "Mer, that is a strange word."

"Don't you… have different types of people that you have to-- to, uh, categorize?"

"Not anymore," he says. "I need to learn about this now."

The things you want to say next just melt away and leak out your ears, as amber takes the place of most of your thoughts. Already you were pushing to think through the glow, but now it insistently wraps a warm blanket up, packing it into your skull until your head is heavy.

Your eyelids are moving through molasses with each blink. Thankfully, Dirk takes firm hold of your arms and moves you effortlessly, lowering you onto the full, lidded basket nearby. Immediately, you slump to the side, your arm on the table and your cheek against it.

Like this, you can feel the brain-massage tendrils in your head, and they overlap with the hum that is still coming over the line, feeding into your ear. It's just a faint noise, yet you still feel the ebb and flow of meaning, emotive and sweet as it swirls in your ear. You wish you had a second earpiece to enjoy it more. Dirk's subvocal musings are even nicer than before, now that you have a faint understanding of them.

Because as the anxiousness and confusion and embarrassment fade, Dirk's hum is throaty and deep and steady. He's working diligently, and you can _taste_ his satisfaction as it's shared down the line to you.

If he's trying to pull some mer observations on this thing, you probably need to keep awake. This is no small task with all the calm being transferred down… downcurrent? Whatever it should be called.

Forcing yourself to sit up, you sigh and drag Terrybot over. Old and true, he illuminates, his green eyes big and fixing on you. "Hello, pal," you whisper, and stroke his chassis. Letting your fingers pull at him, you spin him around on your lap until you can look at his screen. Do you want to watch a vid while Dirk works? You might be a little too tired… but you have the new _Spiderman_ reboot on here, and you have a really good feeling this one is going to be the one they stick with, honestly.

You are doing that annoying thing where you just flip through the films you have saved. It's not that you don't want to watch any, but you want to watch them _all..._ But also avoid getting too engrossed because what if Dirk needs you? Now that you can communicate, albeit in a downright mediocre way, you could put a little more effort in, rather than lying back and thinking of Earth while he examines you.

You flick too far through your collection and wind up in the saucier vid collection. Even if Dirk isn't the type to suddenly lean over your shoulder and be a nosy jerk, you still feel the urge to turn off the screen. Instead, you pull Terrybot into place on your lap and lean forward to hug him, sighing softly.

There is a hum of sunlight-warm curiosity that makes you lift your head.

Dirk's looking at you, and the robot in your arms. "Why do you hold that device like that? What purpose does it serve?"

"Oh, Terry?" You pet his chassis again. "He's just the best. We've been together for years."

"Interesting," Dirk says. "Perhaps I misunderstood. This device is alive?"

You frown and press Terrybot against your stomach. "Ah, not exactly. No, he's not alive, but that doesn't mean he's not my best buddy!"

Dirk looks at the Babeltech severely. "I think the translation if functioning poorly again."

No, you know better. For such a clearly smart penny, Dirk doesn't get a lot of things that are patently obvious to you. "I really thought this was just a-- a solid truth for all intelligent creatures, but humans and alternians, we just… like things sometimes! Even if they aren't quite _people_ or _alive_ , we still get attached to them!"

The soma shivers around Dirk as he lets out a reverb of _something_ at that. It makes you frown as the translation gets gummed up and doesn't come through much. Something like… interest? But more. "That's interesting," Dirk says, a little redundant to you.

He does not elaborate on that, and you… don't feel like pushing for more right now. He seems very busy, actually, and it's much more fun to just idly observe his work: carefully opening the casing of the Babeltech and watching its inner guts as it runs. Floating up to the ceiling to sort through the bubbles gently, coming out with a few that he proceeds to prick with his fingertip and break. Nodding to himself with a new certainty, he glitters up his own lips and starts blowing a new bubble.

And theoretically you think you should be able to follow along, but the harmonics of merspeak seem to layer again and again, until the Babeltech just gives up the ghost and stops bothering to try to keep you in the loop. Oddly, that makes it a little easier to understand what Dirk meant with his bubble test on you. If these spheres filled with info are how mers communicate, you can't imagine what a really loaded up bubble would be like. Just a 'greeting' had you spasming.

It's nice to just bask in the sound again anyway without trying to decipher anything. And besides, during all this, as he flits around and works and all, his crown spokes continue to glow faintly. It brings a haze of peace to everything that you're more than willing to wallow in.

What feels like an hour later, your mind is as still as it ever gets without slumber, and you're barely watching anymore. But Dirk reaches out and strokes your hair, and says, "For this part of my experiment, I need your help."

You crack a yawn and sit up. "Lay it on me, my fine finned friend."

He looks on the verge of asking what you mean, before visibly just deciding not to bother. It makes you grin. "What I need," Dirk says, and with each word from his mouth, his amber lights grow in intensity until they are brilliant beacons over his head, "is for you to talk. Please talk and do not stop."

Oh. That's, hm. Isn't that a pickle. You've always been something of a conversational sprinter, not a distance runner. "About what?"

"Anything," Dirk answers. "It's important to clarifying how this works."

Then he gives you an expectant look. Shit. Okay. You don't want to disappoint him… and as you hold his gaze, you know you have to do this. And you'll be fine.

You take a deep breath. "Don't really know what I should run the rambling wheels on about, but if anything would help, then uh, I should tell you my little robot friend is not alive, but it's a peculiar bit of play we all tend to do. Hand a human a round thingamabob and tell them it's name is Samuel or Rasheed or Delilah and you could bet your last credit and boonie that they are going to want to hold onto that spherical compatriot until their dying days. It's just a funny human thing! And-- and well, with Terry, he was given to me by my Gran, he was even designed entirely with me in mind! So it was a market test of one, and boy I really love the guy. And I know he's not alive, but that doesn't much matter, I think."

You pause, but Dirk says nothing, just continues glowing there expectantly.

"He's useful as shit, too. When I'm not swanning around with handsome blue aliens like yourself, between all my _invading_ and such, I host a travel show, and Terry is my cameraman. He records whatever trouble I'm getting in, which i'm starting to think is about how your little thought bubble things work? But anyway, that's how I wound up here on your fine planet! Was supposed to record a lot of my adventures and make people want to come visit for themselves." Your smile vanishes. "But now, Jane is probably going to have my hide next time she's able to get in touch with me. That's going to be a mess, and I've completely missed the last two windows."

"Windows," Dirk repeats. "Explain what you mean."

"Oh, so the COO is down here on the planet, but in space there's a much bigger orbital station. It's just… well it's in space, and it spins 'round the planet, and it can only talk to the COO every three days for a few hours. It's all very hard to keep track of, especially when I'm down here and dealing with you! I spend way too long in the soma according to pretty much everything, but where would we be if you didn't get to get your rocks off petting my hair every few hours."

Dirk's lips twitch and curve up, and amusement fills your ears and senses. "I do that for you. It is positive reinforcement. You react badly to negative feedback, even remove from the seathrall."

"I do not believe for a New York minute that you really do it for me, I'm not buying any wooden nickels. That's an old old phrase, sorry, but if you were trying to give me some positive feedback, you would stop being such a stingy jerk and let me touch _your_ hair. I bet they're soft, like your fins, they were so soft I think I dreamt about curling up in them, and your lips, those too, shame you smooched and ran like a kissing robber, that was some negative feedback for you. And talk about your mixed signals, you're up and at 'em Adam when you need to get a bro off for science, but kissing's off limits?"

"You can stop talking now," Dirk says with terrible gentleness, and you feel the open faucet in your mind turn shut at last.

Oh sweet kickboxing christ, what did you just say? _Oh no._

What you hope, desperately and with wings in your heart, is that the Babeltech made a mess of all that so Dirk didn't understand a lick of it. That would be just bully and swell, if he didn't realize just how hung up you were about his beautiful floaty tendril hair and those incredible lips. How could you be blamed, given what a-- a cosmic _crime_ it was that Dirk wasn't employing those lips with locking.

While you sit there, immolating from the inside out, Dirk presses a button on the Babeltech, and you are suddenly left in a strange, unnerving silence. There's a profound absence now, the sort of faint background noise of Dirk and his emotions gone dead. You let out a despairing noise and stare up at him.

Dirk smiles, just a slight curve of his lips, and he speaks. He looks into your eyes, the amber light drenching him and you, and you know he is asking if you understand him, with a purr of almost smug satisfaction warping the sound, overlapping it.

You grin so hard and so suddenly, your cheeks ache. "How've you done that? I-- I can't quite make out what you're saying, but I get the gist!"

Dirk nods, and flips the machine back on. It takes a few seconds to remember how to bloody work, but the Dirk-hum is back, and it settles something in your chest. "What you are saying is you understand the sentiment but not the language used?"

"Yes! That's dashed clever, how the hell did you manage that?"

"The seathrall has many uses. The connection between us, I can sometimes perform tricky tasks with it. But I have to work at it some more to make it viable. When I return to update Roxy, I know she will be able to create a better solution. But I have to complete this step first."

You laugh cheerfully. "I don't think I understood all that, but okay. Who is this Roxy? Are they another mer?"

"Yes," Dirk affirms as he nudges his note bubble upward and out of the way. "And… I have been reflecting. The impression I have indicates this machine is making out my words to be harsher than they are, but I also am guilty of being brusque. But you have been a very very good human, and I would like to let you have something you seem to want."

Your stomach flips, heart thumping faster. "Oh, uh, is that so?" Before you can stop yourself, you're staring at his lips again. Fuck's sake, you are hopeless.

Dirk crooks his fingers until you take his hand, and he pulls you close. You have been strapped down to this alien's table and jerked off and taken to bright lovely pieces, but only now are you shivering with anxiousness.

Keeping hold of your hand, he draws you, and lifts. For a moment, you think he is going to coax you to hold his shoulders.

But no, it's far better than that. With a firm grip, he pushes your hand into his hair. Right into the fanning, beautiful gradients of blues to oranges to glowing white gold, ticklish against your palms and just slightly squishy between your fingers, so soft and maybe a little warm, the nuditendrils dragging along your skin, and you let out a sound of pure joy.

It is, frankly, just as wonderful as you imagined. You reach up with both hands and, keeping your fingers lax so you don't hurt anything, you drag them back from Dirk's forehead to the back of his skull. The tendrils shift and move, both autonomously and following the movement of soma. They dance and glow and are just a treat to your touch and eyes.

"They're plum fucking brilliant," you tell him earnestly.

"I appreciate that. I worked hard to apply them."

That doesn't make a lot of sense, but Dirk's moving you again. He directs you with that casual proprietary strength and reach of his, gripping one of your hips and pushing you around him, until you have to let the nudihair slip from your fingers.

But as he adjusts and coaxes you where he wants, you find yourself at his back again. His back, flushed full of silky fins.

"Now this is some positive feedback," you tell him earnestly as you settle yourself in. Your chest and stomach press against his back, his fins slipping and sliding around you as you hold on and wiggle yourself closer. Fans of orange drag along your face and neck, and you shiver and pull yourself even closer.

And now, you glance up to see the nudihair tendrils, where they run down the back of his neck. They are all just waving in the current and beckoning you.

So, with one arm wrapped around him, you take the opportunity to stroke his hair, reveling in the texture and the… trust. Yeah. That's nice too.

With the nodes against your face, you can hear Dirk blowing another bubble, the overlapping sounds, rich and lovely. Tucked in close into his fins, a hand resting loosely into his hair, and amber light sinking into you all over, you can't help it anymore.

You shut your eyes, and relax.

 

* * *

 

The next day follows a similar routine. You sleep, deep and dreamless and refreshing, have a bite to eat, then make your way out to the mer workshop.

As you arrive, Dirk is taking notes on Babeltech, its casing cracked open like an oyster. It's hard not to feel nervous looking at it like that, but you also know Dirk has the patience and steady hands needed for this technological reconnoitering. If he was able to dismantle and reassemble Terrybot, then this should be easier anyway.

Floating in, you wave silently at him, not wanting to interrupt. To your delight, he waves back before refocusing.

It's a funny thing, how nice it feels here with him. There is some element of excitement to getting chummy with a brand new alien species, which you think he reciprocates. But also, you are becoming accustomed to this little secret place. You don't have to worry about anything except when you inevitably have to return to the COO and put in a good faith visit to your boudoir.

You push off a wall and float forward. Really, when you get down to it, soma is some incredible stuff. Does Dirk know how great it is? Probably not. But by now you think… you may have been subsoma longer than not since your arrival on Alcyone.

Movement has become second nature, and you know exactly how to turn and flutter your legs to float around. Dirk's tail is lifted and stretched across most of the room. You drag your hand through a fan of his rich orange fins as you pass; his whole tail twitches, and you grin and do it again.

The end of Dirk's tail is a vicious whiplike thing. You've not really seen it used for anything but the obvious somatic propulsion until now. As you continue to fuck around and distract Dirk, the tail lashes away from you. You assume that's going to be the end of it but then it whips _back_ , and loops around you with ease. Things move so much quicker in soma than water, you always forget that, and now you have your arms trapped against your side as his tail holds you.

Then it starts winding you up. His tail curls on itself, and wraps firmly around your waist, slinging under your ass, and finally looping once more around your legs.

Well, this is a fucking conundrum. You wiggle around a bit, and everything squeezes around you. Kind of a reminder.

You sigh as loudly and dramatically as you can, wanting to be certain Dirk hears you. Your head falls back, and bumps into Dirk's lower back. Which is not exactly a fate worse than death. Silkiness caresses your head and shoulders as you settle down. The muscular hold around you also moves, tightening and loosening in steady waves.

The way it squeezes the flesh right under your ass sure is… distracting.

So perhaps you simmer down and wait while Dirk wraps up what he's dictating. You know he's finished when his grip loosens and lets you paddle away. Only then does he look at you, a wry expression on his face before he swims to the ceiling and touches a few bubbles, rolling them around to link together. He starts building a little cluster of them.

The Babeltech is sitting pretty on the table. You pick up one bundle of cords and nodes, and start to apply them in the right places.

When he notices, he pauses, and puts on the other end before getting back to his bubble sorting.

"What are you up to there then?" you ask him when the Babeltech finishes engaging.

Before he responds, he flicks his crown spokes up, each one catching alight. They fill the room with amber, darkening the shadows and tinting everything honey-colored. "Say that again."

"What're you up to?"

"Selecting the notes and observations I'm going to bring back to--" something doesn't translate, it skips, but you feel a strong resonance of _home_ and _solitude_ and _duty_ and _nexus_ "--to show to my friend. Are you alright?"

"What place is it?" you ask, leaning in as if that will help you understand.

Dirk smiles softly and reaches out to you, plucking your earbud out before he says aloud into the soma between you: "Isaura."

You tuck the earbud back. "That's pretty."

"I'll let the Queenarch know you approve. But I have reached a point in my observations and studies that it's… it's _negligent_ for me to keep screwing around here without at least relaying some of my findings. As it is, Roxy might use my fins for floss when she finds out, hrm, about you."

All of that is fascinating, but before anything else you blab out: "Have you gotten better at speaking human?"

"Not exactly. Sort of the opposite, really." He drifts up again, attaching more single bubbles to the mass he's collected. "There's many ways to sort of… circumnavigate the barriers holding your mind back from understanding me."

"Well, isn't that grand. More things that make not a lickety-split of sense."

Dirk burbles, and glances down at you. "It's difficult to explain things to you with an impenetrable communication wall between us."

"But you've taken a hammer to that now--"

"My methods are delicate and painstakingly careful, nothing like a heavy blunt implement," Dirk says defensively.

"So tell me something. Tell me…" you watch his hands as they flit around like dark blue birds. "How the bubbles work."

"Yeah, it seems that humans use long series of symbols to convey their meaning, or replicated images and sound," Dirk demurs quietly, his brow furrowing as he thinks. "It's not bad, but I prefer our way. It's faster and more vivid when the information is conjured directly in your mind rather than relayed through an intermediary. No offense to your round helper."

"I'm sure Terry will find it in his silicon heart to forgive you."

"Uh, sure. Well, the bubbles contain a strong harmonic that encapsulates information, or an abstract idea, or a memory, or something you have spun new to share, like a story. Most are shared between acquaintances. More important ones, the ones we need to be certain are not lost, are taken to the rebubblers, who will create a duplication and store it safely." His crown spokes shiver. "One of my kin does that, duplicates bubbles and protects them. He also weaves brand new ones, usually with interesting music or strange sound layers. Depends on if he's in an artistic mood or just wants to annoy people."

"Oh, so it's not sciencey stuff! So your mer movies and songs are all in bubbles? That's neat. Do you have any bubbles that-- that combine image and story and sound, like a blockbuster film?"

Dirk gives you a bemused look. "That didn't remotely translate. But yeah, sometimes there will be a bubble everyone wants to experience, and the rebubbles can barely keep up with demand. It'd be fine if people just had the courtesy to replace the one they used, but no one wants to take the time and effort to replicate it, do they?"

"I guess not," you say, beaming. "Mer movies. And everyone scrambling to get a pop to enjoy. That's absolutely friggin' awesome. I wish popping one didn't make my head spin like a cocked-up centrifuge."

"That might be harder to work on, but I'll keep it in mind." Finally, he seems finished plucking out bubbles like a very picky eater going through a bag of grapes. With the mass of thirty-or-so glimmering spheres grouped up, he swoops down to get his hands in his funny dust.

"So you have… family?" You watch him rub his hands together, ensuring they're fully saturated in the glittery stuff.

"Yes, one. Born from same _ovikopos_."

You make a show of glaring at the Babeltech. "What, really?"

"What's wrong?"

"It didn't understand whatever that word was, so it spat out some old weird one. Greek or Latin. It's always Greek or Latin."

Dirk goes silent with concentration as he sweeps his arms in a large circle around the bubble, snapping a new, much bigger one in place around them. Once done, he nods, satisfied. "So you have languages your species use when your languages don't work?"

"It sounds extra stupid when you say it like that, but basically. Are you quite done with that now?" you ask him.

"For the moment, I am _quite_ done, yes." He pushes off the wall and swishes his tail in a beautiful S-shape, returning down to the approximate 'floor'. "Why?"

"I was just wondering if… we were going to do any science today?" You shrug, and find the cord to the Babeltech in your hand. It twists around your finger tightly as you fidget.

Dirk tilts his head, and all the colorful tendrils around his face move with him in a wave. "Is it common for your species to volunteer so eagerly for examination?"

Yikes. You flush hotly. "Oh, haha, not even a little bit, honestly, but our doctors are rarely so… erm."

His finger catches under your chin, encouraging you to meet his eyes. His glowbobs drift around his face idly. They are always 'on' lately, but that seems to be how he's making it easier to communicate. That light is a talented, mysterious thing. "What? Tell me," he says.

"You're just very handsome, and I'm not just saying that because I've always liked aliens. Really, with a fellow like you, it's no trouble to lie back and think of Earth while you lay hands on," you tell him, feeling the flush in your face turn to a boil.

"Oh," he says quietly. At least he has the decency to look as embarrassed as you feel. It's reassuring to see him like this, staring at you with big eyes and a healthy amber blush through his spots, and his fingers lingering by your chin.

You know he's going to kiss you about five seconds before it happens. It's writ clearly on his face, the way his vividly blue tongue touches his upper lip, and how careful he is to _not_ look at your mouth. And even more, even better, you can hear it, the strum of anxious fear coming from him, so subtle you almost lose in your own tumultuous feelings.

The point is, as soon as he leans in, you shut your eyes and do the same. The plushness of his lips against yours is just as good as you remember, all soft and tempting. But this time, you are _not_ going to jump the gun and scare him off. No, you are a goshdamned fucking gentleman, and keep your tongue solidly in your mouth as you kiss him.

That is, of course, until you are given the green light. Dirk's own tongue is thinner than yours, maybe wider, and feels sort of strange… tensile and flexible. It easily finds the seam of your lips and sort of twists to the side, encouraging you to open up, and _now_ this is the good stuff. His tongue wraps fully around yours, and you groan. There is nothing gentlemanly about the exploratory push and pull, which thank god because you so prefer being a bit of a cad and rake about this stuff.

And this time, he lets you put your hands in his hair.

By the time he's finished licking around your mouth, you are panting soma, lips parted and tender. He still has that slightly stunned look on his face as he does, and drags the back of his fingers down your neck in a way that makes your heart clench painfully.

"Right," he murmurs, and it's more hum than words, but you can feel it leaking into your mind through all the gaps and seams he's found and flooded with warm light. "Science. Before you really get me in trouble."

You can't help snorting. "What a load of baloney. Can you actually explain why you can get up close and personal with my finer anatomy but a liplock isn't kosher?"

He looks down, away, at the Babeltech, at the detritus on the table. Mostly not at you. "I told you. Arousal experimentation in conjunction with the seathrall is standard testing for new species. Kissing is… not. It's…" He lets out a watery click, like clearing his throat. "Inappropriate, I guess?"

"That's complete horsefeathers," you say sourly. "We are the first human and mer to ever meet, there isn't a-- a rulebook for this!"

Dirk lets out a long, deep sigh. "Suppose not." Another click noise, and he pulls himself up, out of the little dejected curl he was tucking into before your eyes. Like this, at full length or height or whatever, he's so very tall, almost ethereal as his lines and angles swim amid the soma flooded with amber light. "Take off the device. We won't need it."

Both of you take off the Babeltech. Moving swiftly and with a lot more familiarity than you feel to the doodad, he winds up the cords and stores the nodes and earpieces, closing everything neatly before putting it on a shelf.

With a space cleared and ready, Dirk turns again to you. Now, you can scarcely see his lovely face through the light, the spokes united in front of him. By now, the feeling is gentle; you have been slipping into the warm glowing quicksand for a while now, and with the full force of the amber pouring in, there's not a stitch of discomfort. It pushes against the walls of your mind and makes its home as you sigh and settle around it, just trying to be big enough to contain it all. But if you can't, if it drips from your grasp and leaks through the floors and seeps further down, beyond your vigilance, it will still be okay.

Dirk strokes your hair, and you hum happily at him.

"You're doing so well, Jake," Dirk says, and if you could you would fucking _preen_ at the sound of your name in his treacle-rich voice. Your name has never sounded so wonderful. "Just remember: this will not hurt."

You nod, silent. You don't need to speak. Not right now.

Hands grip your hips, and rotate. You face the table and the shelves behind it.

A whisper of a suggestion enters your mind. You follow it, and lay out your arms, hands palm up, fingers loosely curled. Waiting.

In reward, a hum vibrates down your spine, pleased and pleasing. You sigh with it as Dirk takes your hands and wraps his taut loops around your wrists. It must be important you don't squirm around for this. Sometimes you just can't help it, it feels so strange and good.

Once you are safe and secure, Dirk strokes your skin, skating over your arms, your shoulders, your exposed back. There is plenty for him to touch, and there is something diligent in how he traces unknown shapes against you.

It's a shame when he stops, and you whine briefly. He strokes your hair, leaning against your back as he reaches around you, into the cubby hole with some tools you don't care enough to examine.

A long thin tool with a handle wrapped in something with grip. A little stone container, grooved like a clam shell.  They're set aside, only barely in your field of view. You turn your head and watch Dirk's dark fingers spin the tool elegantly. It looks sharp as it flicks this way and that, past his knuckles and back again, but never cuts his skin.

Dirk hums at you, and his free hand touches the back of your head. He nudges you to look ahead again.

For what has to be a few minutes, you stay just like that: bent over the table, tied in place, unable to see anything. Slowly it starts to chafe at you, making a dim worry start to grow in your belly.

It lasts until he touches you again, and you breathe out the worry in one hard exhale.

His tail curls tightly around your legs, one hand touching your left shoulder, as if he's steadying himself. This close, you can see his glowy spokes at the very top of your vision, arching in. You try to look up at them, but the strain is too much as you try to glimpse them _and_ keep your head tilted down for him. So you relax and just watch the light; there's enough of it, even without staring directly.

The humming is nice. For once, it doesn't seem to mean anything… or you're too drowsy to pick out what it means. Still, you can feel it all over, like a song. It bends and folds onto itself until you would think there's an echo. It's pretty, and you try to hum back. It pitches both up and down, each layer independent and lovely, then resettles.

You're doing such a good job trying to hum along, it takes you a little bit to notice anything else. One of Dirk's hands is pressed flat to your shoulder blade, warm and solid. But beyond that, you can feel a strange numb pressure, narrower, and dragging slowly.

Once you catch it, your face pulls into a frown. "Oh," you say, so slow and drawn out it's practically a moan, "I feel that…"

Dirk stops, and somehow gets closer, until his humming is pressed flush to your lower back, suffusing right into you. That helps, and you sway, head rocking to and fro with an imagined rhythm you pull from the sound.

The slippery drag gets further and further away, until it's barely on your radar. But you can't help but follow Dirk, so intensely keyed into him as he touches you, does something, you're so relieved he's doing _anything_ , the few minutes without him, before, they were agony.

His arm brushes yours as he reaches for the little pot on the table. Grip tight, he pushes his slim blade tool deep into the container, and gives it a few swishes. When he draws it back out, it's coated in something that shines, viscous and jelly-like, wobbling on the flat of the tool.

It leaves your sight, and is gone. Distantly, there is a cool glide against the same weird, numb patch of skin. As deep in your calm as you are, it finds you, prickly and vivid enough that you tense your arms, moaning for real this time, just caught off guard by _sensation._

The tail around your legs tightens; you are an anchor, and Dirk holds close, shifting against you. His fins flutter and tickle your sides, and you shudder, overwhelmed. Your hair is stirred as Dirk lets out a hard breath, his hips still moving restlessly, pressed firm to your backside and thighs.

Lips push firm to the back of your neck before Dirk says, "Be still. You're doing well."

It's an entirely different type of sangfroid. Being unable to hold onto anything, unable to put your finger on anything happening, that sure chills a gent down. But now this, there is so much, the light, the constant hum, the strange slippery feeling, the taut grip of the bindings, Dirk tight around you, Dirk rocking against you with starts and stops.

Hanging your head, you breathe through, letting each sensation roll sweetly over you and right on by, away. Everything is fine and you don't pay any mind.

Except the times Dirk kisses the base of your neck. That you mind a lot, given how his lips close around the bump at the top of your spine, his tongue just barely flicking against your skin. That feels sharp and good, making you moan more, helpless but wanting.

He shushes you a few times, and finally grips your hip, fingers tight. He rocks and moves against you, grinding hard. It draws your eyes open like pulled shutters; for the first time you can hear the desperation spilling into his hum, accidental but impossible to ignore once you catch it.

With all you've got, you try to move against him, just to… encourage, maybe. But he has wound himself so tight and your arms are spread so far, there's nothing you can do but lay there, taking his weight and soaking in the drag of his strange flocked skin. He strokes up and down your back with a shaking hand, opposite of the tingling numbness.

The narrow blade is cast onto the table, out of his hand and spinning through the soma until it skitters against the stone. There is a faint cloud of red around it, already dissipating as you blink at it.

His hand sweeps over the numb spot just under your shoulder; the thick tacky gel is rubbed away. When Dirk lays his hand flat over the spot and applies pressure, you shiver and let out a strained whimper.

"Good," he says in a thick voice. "Perfect." Haltingly, his tail unwinds, releasing you, or releasing him. He unbinds your wrists, and you pull them in slowly, bracing yourself on the table and taking a deep breath.

You know the amber light has receded when you start to come down from it. Or, you suppose, rev up. Dragging your brain out of the sticky molasses pool and back to higher cognition always feels like a slog, and leaves you almost tired, some energy in you tapped out from the effort.

But you manage to reach up, cupping your chin to turn and pop your neck. Oh hells, that feels better.

When you finally have the gumption to look around, you see Dirk applying one of his little kelp bandages to his forearm, a few inches down from his wrist.

"Did you hurt yourself?" you ask.

He looks up at you and frowns, a hum of confusion with him. You point to the bandage, and he looks down, as if surprised at its presence even as he puts it on.

"No," he says. "Healthy, good." He pats his hand on the bandage twice, then shakes out his arm. "You hurt?"

"Of course not," you say, and rub your face. Arms are a bit twingey, but that's all. He sure does lash you down a lot. You really, _really_ wish you minded more.

"Good, good, Jake," he tells you. "Hungry? Want food?"

Your stomach rumbles at the thought. "Oh, yes, please!"

Dirk lets out a staccato noise, his strange mer laugh. Swimming by you, he pauses to look into your eyes, face close enough you nearly lean away in surprise. But he gives you a fast smooch on your forehead, then swims away before you can even gasp.

Left alone, you hang there in the soma, unmoving for a long moment. A grin steals over your face, delirious and silly, and thank fuck Dirk's not here to see. So much for no kissing! It seems you have well and fully broken the dam there. And good riddance anyway!

You can't help but think to yourself everything is going _so well._

 

* * *

 

Coming back to your hotel room is increasingly weird. It's this purgatorial space between your trips into the soma. Once you return, you slump onto the closest chair to center yourself. Your gams are all jellified and weird after each of your long bouts subsoma, and you take a few minutes to stretch. Pointing your toes, turning your feet this way and that, trying to relearn this thing called walking.

At least it never takes too long; no matter how much you revel in your vacation, you're still a land mammal and have over twenty years of experience with traipsing around.

When you feel ready to stand, you push yourself up and head in for a shower. You've done the dumb thing where you skipped it and just passed out on your bed, and waking up to wet sheets and lingering beads of soma on your skin isn't fun.

Lathering up, you scrub the soma off and take some extra time to really rinse out your hair. To rinse off, you tap one of the panels on the shower wall, calling the spray to that line of jets so it hits you just right.

It also hits your shoulders and back, and you yelp as you feel something on your shoulder blade light up with bright, intense tingling. You lean away from the water and clap your hand over the spot, awkwardly reaching up and back down against your shoulder blade. And it doesn't like _that_ either, the tingling turning into a sharp sting from the impact.

Great blazing balls of fire, what the fuck is that?

The shower turns itself off as you step out, off the pressure floor, and stumble to the vanity. Problem is, you can't twist yourself into enough of a pretzel to catch a glimpse at whatever the fuck it is.

There are plenty of reasons you have a handheld mirror in your bag; as someone who works in front of a camera, it's important to be presentable, or at least to be the attractive sort of disheveled. Also, you never know when you'll finally run into Space Basilisks. Just because they haven't yet popped up in the planetary population surveys doesn't mean you should let down your guard.

You find the round mirror and run your fingers across its edges, already powering it up as you trod nakedly and damp back to the bathroom nook. Then, it's just a matter of putting your back to the wall mirror and lifting your hand mirror to the right spot, and hitting the hover button.

When you situate it, you let it go, and it gives you a clear view of the other mirror.

Which gives you a fine view of the span of your back. Dark skin, a few darker beauty marks, and…

There is a stripe of skin, right where the tingles were. It's about two inches wide and runs down in an eerily straight line to cover most of your shoulder blade. At first glance, it does look like your skin, but off, like some substance has filmed over you.

Cautiously, you reach back and trace the edge of the stripe with your fingertips. It's smooth and unbroken; there's an obvious transition from one skin to another, but it seems knit perfectly into you without so much as a hint of redness.

Then you touch the stripe itself, and it's _lush_ under your fingers. Somehow thicker or deeper than your own skin, and as you stroke it, nearly wrenching your shoulder as you struggle to reach that far back, spots appear or awaken or something. From a slightly darker, maybe greyish hue overlaid on your skin to something that _glows_ as you rub it, coming to timid life before your eyes.

Amber. Faint, but most certainly a familiar amber shimmer spilling between your fingers as you rub soft circles, coaxing it further and further to brightness. Then, you're just rubbing it because it's… it's on you and it's felty and nice, and you force yourself to stop already, geez.

That sure is a strip of… of mer skin? How is that possible? You are very very certain that the decades of research done here at the Outpost would have unearthed a connection between longterm soma exposure and _turning into a mer_. Also, it surely wouldn't pop up like that, a tidy little strip.

It is blurry and through refraction and blinding light that you remember just a few hours ago. Dirk wrapped tight around you, his little blade, the dim tugging sensation at your back.

But why would he do that? You reach up and rub the spot again.

You have no more time to puzzle that out, because the door to your room chimes, and _shit shit_. Someone is outside, and you have a glowy thing on you!

"Don't come in, just give me a 'mo," you call as you frantically yank the robe off its hook. You nearly rip the thing like an idiot before managing to pull it on. Then you have to check the mirror again to make sure… yes, the glowy spots aren't visible through it. Great, fantastic.

You shove your floating mirror out of your way and stumble to the door, holding your robe shut as you tap the door's frame.

The door parts down the middle, and you have a warm smile out and ready by the time it's finished opening. You aim it a little downward, because the hotel attendant on the other side is a little on the short side. They might be the same person who helms the front desk? You… have not paid enough attention to recognize them. Often you are staggering back to your room at the end of your dives, without a care in the world. You only feel a little bad about it now.

The attendant nods curtly and professionally to you. "Good evening, Mr. English. We apologize for disturbing you so late, but an urgent missive has arrived for you."

Then hold out a flat, folded reading tablet. It fits easily in your hand as you take it. "What for?"

"I'm afraid we are not privy to the contents of guest communications." They incline their head to you. "Have a good evening, Mr. English."

You watch them about-face and march briskly away before letting your smile drop. Who the hell is sending you missives? No one sends missives to you, that's for official bureaucratic shit. Though, it's not like you've checked your messages lately _anywhere._

Once the door seals shut, you tap the lock on it, just in case, before puttering back into your room proper. The missive is locked, with a little biometric scanner on one of the edges.

You don't really have a choice, either throw it out into the ocean or open it, like some fanged box of mayhem.

You take a breath and press your thumb to the scanner.

The missive immediately opens, the two halves separating with a thin glassy screen between them. Groaning, you run your thumb over the controls, darkening the screen and bumping up the text luminosity; you hate how unreadable these things are by default.

Irritation drains out of you as you read, replaced by a surge of honest to god nausea, like a pit of snakes opening up in your abdomen, writhing and toxic and horrible.

The missive has official letterhead glowing red at the top. Under it, in tidy serifed font, is a revocation of your diving certification for the Calypso Observation Outpost, effective immediately, pending review from CrockerCorp Regional Overseer Jane Crocker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dunno what to say except i am having way too much fun and uh things are about to get a lot more Weird so i hope y'all are having fun too /ahem


	7. with a battery of guilt on which to poise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: Jake is going to have a situation in which he feels like he's in real peril. he's gonna be fine.
> 
> also i blame dusty and i blame comma but i _especially_ blame mims. i accept zero fault in this. ~~outside the fact every word is mine and i put them down but ANYWAY LETS GO~~

**◊ CCOSA — Welcome package from your friends at CrockerCorp!**

_A fine Alcyone morning to you, Mr. English! We hope your shuttle ride down to the Calypso Observation OutPost was pleasant. To prepare you for your stay we wanted to brief you on the many attractio…_

**◊ CCOSA — How is your visit to Alcyone going?**

_Good morning, Mr. English! We wanted to touch base with you and hear what you think of the resort! We understand you have something of a reputation of jetsetting and getting a look at a lot of luxurious locales. How does the Bubb…_

**◊ T. Nitram, CC — Communication issues?**

_mR, eNGLISH, HI,,,, THIS IS tARVOS, WE MET UH BRIEFLY WHEN YOU CAME TO SEE mISS cROCKER??? yOU PROBABLY DON'T REMEMBER, aNYWAY SHE ASKED ME TO ASK YOU IF YOU WERE HAVING ISSUES WITH,, UH,,, GETTING YOUR LARGE DATA PACKETS RELAYED TO TH…_

**◊ T. Nitram, CC — aRE YOU THERE???**

_hEY, mR, eNGLISH, UH, SORRY TO BOTHER YOU AGAIN BUT mISS cROCKER HAS BEEN ASKING ME A LOT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON WITH YOU??? cOULD YOU,,, LIKE,, FIRE BACK A REPLY asap???_

**◊ Jane Crocker, CC Regional Overseer — Where ARE you?!**

_Jake, this is absurd. I have no idea what you are doing down there, but I am getting more than a little P.O.ed about it! You have pulled your little avoidance schtick before, but I never thought you'd have the audacity to pull this on me professionally. We need to talk…_

  
  


You shut the lid of your laptop and push it towards the foot of your bed, away from you, as if it were radioactive. But no, it's much worse than that. A few isotopes never hurt nobody, but the unread messages piled in your inbox have you pressing your face into your hands and counting out your breaths.

By the boys and all their raucous howdys, you sure screwed the pooch on this one.

Getting yourself under control takes a good long while. Which you suppose is fine given that you are now grounded and have no pressing engagements to see to. No, just you and your laptop, sitting there like it's about to open its maw and clap down on your bare foot with poisonous fangs.

You always get a little irrational when you've messed up. Derailing the trolley before it crashes and spills its payload of self-loathing and petrified mortification is tricky, especially given the severity of it this time, but you have some practice. You've had to live with your stupid brain for a while now, after all.

When you work up the willpower to open the laptop again, you immediately tap the old messages and delete them. You can't… handle all of them, so best to just scratch the old ones as a lost cause and take on Jane's.

And Jane, your old friend Janey, is rightfully pissed at you. Last you left your channel, you assured everyone you would be right back with some top notch exclusives of CrockerCorp's new resort. To go dead silent after that looks _bad_ and you know it.

Skimming the message is the most you can muster, each word searing into your eyeballs. Jane is _disappointed_ in you for flaking out on her again, and this time in a professional setting. She has done her best to be patient in case there was a perfectly acceptable explanation for this, but you are on _contract_ here, and you better not make her enforce it. That would not be fun for anyone. And she's checked in with the staff around the COO and is aware you have been thoroughly enjoying your time in the ocean. It is completely unacceptable that you haven't been able to manage _one update_ , especially considering all the fun you've had on her company's credit line. You've left her with no choice but to revoke your certification, and she expects to hear from you the moment the satellite is back in alignment, or you'll be having a discussion up on the station, in her office, with her lawyers.

She ends the whole thing with a sharp, furious _"Perhaps this will finally get your attention."_ You physically flinch as you close out your inbox and stare blankly at the meters and analog clocks and widgets on your screen, ticking merrily away.

This is… essentially a disaster. Sure, you have not kept up your end of the deal with CrockerCorp and that's dire enough, but what will happen if Jane finds out the why? The very _idea_ of it makes a chill run down your spine. You can't even correct this; Terrybot's down in the canyon cave! You assumed it was perfectly fine to leave him down there in Dirk's care, but his cinematic skills would be a life-saver right now! Or at the very least you could curl up under your blankets and watch some films until your heart stopped trying to beat feet right out of your chest.

Speaking of comforting things, _Dirk._ Good fucking gravy, Dirk. It isn't like you had an explicit agreement to go see him daily, but you have been, even more often than that maybe. What'll he think when you suddenly don't show up to see him? Will he assume you abandoned him and flaked out or whatever?

Reaching up, you rub your shoulder, fingers slipping under your robe. How will you ask him about this? It seems pretty fucking important, and now you have no way to figure out why he's slapped some glowy shit to your skin.

And if Jane summons you like she threatens to, you can kiss your vacation on Alcyone goodbye.

That thought is… too much. Too big. You groan and grab your pillow again, hugging it tight and mashing your face into it. For now, you just need to breathe.

For now, all you _can_ do is breathe.

 

* * *

 

Sleep is… bad.

The less said about it, the better.

In an effort to unscrew the cap and upend a load of salt on the wound, you force yourself to get dressed in the morning, and you walk down to the lido deck.

It's a good idea in the same way a ballistic missile is a good greeting. That is to say, no, god, not at all, it's all just fire and shrapnel. There is nothing to be gained from sitting at the bar at the bistro and looking out beyond the glossy railings and smooth steps to the glimmering ocean. It's a beautiful day out. It's always a beautiful day on Alcyone. Even in the morning sun, you can see the blips of light from the most ostentatious and brightest flora and fauna hidden under the gentle lapping waves.

You suck in a breath, and it catches in your chest, making you cough.

The morning attendant for the bistro offers you your usual. In any other circumstance, having a usual in a nice place like this would be a treat. Familiarity without having to really interact _too_ much.

However, you shake your head, and ask for something else. "Whatever you recommend for a gent looking to get his diurnal drink on."

The drink they give you is the grown up bad boy bro to your usual, like a mint julep gone mean. The mint has a pucker-mouth kick to it, and holds your attention in a way the simple refresher didn't.

Looking out at the ocean and drinking is going to have you banging the dulldrums. You know this. And yet, here you are, staring at the horizon as if you will suddenly see your mer appear like Ariel out of the salt sea.

Not bloody likely, you think, and sigh.

After another drink, the bar attendant gives you a sandwich "on the house." You can take a hint.

Also you are well aware of the dark panther pacing your mind has been doing. Dragging your finger around the rim of your glass in hopes it'll ring (it doesn't, dash it all), you think about the worst options you have. For instance, what you _could_ do is go back to your room and set up the shitty camera on your laptop and record something, alright. You could record a video diary summarizing all of your time here on Alcyone. Blow the whole thing wide open, load it up onto the sublight net, and let Jane deal with the fallout. Now _that_ would be some fucking press!

It's time to go for a walk. With a bottle of water.

Putting your back to the ocean makes you feel a little queasy. The morning drink probably isn't doing you any favors either.

By now, you should be with Dirk. Instead, you guess you have to plod around the COO, looking for a suitable distraction. This would be a damn sight easier if you'd taken a little more interest in the amenities around, but you can manage.

The river stone building next to the Bubble and the lido deck is a spa. You could try that out. Massages have always made you mighty sleepy, and you could do with a nap to get past the state you're in.

But that… would require you strip to your skivvies. Swallowing thickly, you reach up and rub your shoulder. You checked meticulously to ensure the amber spots did not glow through your shirt, but you can still feel the rich texture. And rubbing it makes it hard to stop. You grit your teeth and pull your hand away, shoving it into your pocket.

You wander through a sort of main concourse of interconnected bridges, one of the covered areas with tables and chairs. Most of the people availing themselves to the shade and seats are in labcoats, so you're wandering close to the science area again.

It's a nice verdana, close to the shuttleport. The foot traffic here is almost devoid of tourists, but the place is clearly spruced up and built for future hypothetical visitors. There is a large interactive map, which amusingly enough only lists a half dozen attractions.

The COO is just not a great resort yet. But with the draw of soma, it apparently doesn't need to be.

Also, slowly you realize there are new suspended screens in this area. They definitely weren't here when you arrived, and you apparently have been subsoma so long you missed the staff adding a baker's dozen minus one of hovering monitors.

You wander over to one, curious. You expect shuttle times perhaps? But the shuttle times are constantly the same, to best coordinate with the station's movement. So that'd be silly.

Sure enough, instead, there are news items listed on the screens. A few banal updates from the more populous central planets. Excursion updates from the Perseus Veil. Some new film releases and the subsequent reviews.

You walk slowly through and read most of the screens. There are a few dedicated to updates from the COO itself, a Calypso Bulletin. The finished reports from the science team scroll by at a nice, readable pace.

Desperate for something to do, you stand through a few of the summarized reports. Funnily enough, all of them seem to be approximately the same spiel: _We tested the soma with this new method or equipment. Stunningly enough, the soma did not return any significant results! Truly it's a great substance that will be ready for export as soon as we do this next test that will definitely work better than the last one!_

You shake your head and walk away, your stormy mood lightened for a few moments. Next time you see Dirk, you should tell him about this, how the humans and trolls have been trying to figure Alcyone out for _decades_ now with almost no joy to be found. A sciencey fellow like him would like that.

The faint smile on your face vanishes as you remember you don't know when you'll see him next. You don't know when "next time" is.

It's still day. You need to kill more time before you can reasonably turn in and just hide in bed and go to sleep.

Your feet carry you to the aquarium, which you haven't given much attention yet. You think last time you walked by it, it was still submerged, and you didn't want to wait?

This time, the entrance is open, and you hurry in, lest you get stuck outside again. The door attendant gives you a cheery greeting that you return with nothing even approaching a smile. More like a grimace. It's the best you can do.

Inside the aquarium sphere, the walls are built of thick glass, and there are narrow, spiraling walkways heading deeper into the building. Looking over the edge, you can see the floor is a massive plane of glass itself, about three levels down.

You start walking through, one hand dragging along the railing. For the moment, the glass walls aren't very interesting, overlooking the horizon and the ocean surface.

After a few minutes, a soft set of chimes rings through the aquarium. Then, with the grace of a falling leaf, the building sinks into the soma.

The ocean level rises up the sides until the only light is a narrow stripe near the roof. In the absence of sunshine, pale floor lights come on. Most of the building is dark, and it makes the subsoma scene all around more vibrant and colorful.

The reef is shallow here, but plenty of creatures flit around, making up for the lack of giant anemones and coral fans. As the building settles into place, you have the perfect vantage point to watch a big lime green jellyfish bump blindly into the glass and bounce off, drifting away again.

This aquarium has a spectacular array of somatic life, but it's the same sort you've seen before on other planets. As you watch the jellyfish, you touch a finger against the glass nearby.

The glass lights up with text, describing the not-jellyfish-but-jellyfish-analogue, all of its beauty, and how it primarily seems to eat other jellies, even absorbing their toxic tendrils into its mass. The largest one on record is 250 pounds and suspected to have eaten over 90 of its smaller brethren! Wowza!

You walk away, shaking your head, and continue down the path.

From another tap on the glass, you finally learn the collective noun for jellyfish, and are disappointed. You also see a weird headless ribbony fish that races so fast around the aquarium, you barely have time to catch it with a press on the wall. There is a classification number, and the nickname "ribbon racer" listed. It has a mouth hidden somewhere, with very sharp teeth to catch food. But it also enjoys following swimmers, especially if they are willing to pet its back.

Even further, you see a mutated looking fish, drifting lazily by. It has a weird mouth lined in bright glowy shit and a big golfball sized sphere of transparent jelly before ending in a pretty tail. The aquarium again only has a classification number and an unofficial nickname, the inglorious "gluefish." The big sphere isn't its stomach, but a ball of gel. It has no natural predators and also doesn't seem to eat. Just… swims around with a weird gaping mouth, and somehow survives on the dew of dawn or whatever.

Alcyone, you decide, is very strange. You like it a great deal.

At the very bottom, you step off the path and onto the glass floor. Now you can see underneath, a deep hollow in the reef that is teeming with tendril glowy life and darting fish and plants that do their best to cling to the glass with very animalistic hunger and a cloud of living bubbles that filter feed off the coral and a sort of clam big enough you could _sit inside it_ that opens into thirds like a strange flower. You stare at a… what looks like a giant living feather and moves like a swirly twirly kite.

It also glows, and you get… distracted for a while, watching it loop around in circles and glowing a rich vermillion. You break out of your trance when the building chimes again, signaling imminent return to the surface.

You rub your eyes and start walking back up, hand holding the rail as the aquarium resurfaces.

It was nice. It was a perfectly lovely place.

It makes you feel almost… gah, it's stupid. You are filled with longing. It thrums and aches like a bruise, and looking at all the pretty shining things has not helped one lick.

You are hermit crabbed so far into your own skull, you barely notice who happens to be on the crosswalk as you exit the aquarium. All you have to think is _oh no ram horns_ before you stagger to a halt to gawk nervously. She's sat on one of the many benches with a lunchbox next to her, currently flipped closed. Her attention is downward, at the glass under her feet, watching some somatic life swim by.

This would be a fine time to skedaddle the fuck out of here. You're checking your angles for the best direction when of course she looks up and lifts her eyebrows at you in surprise.

"Jake!" She calls, with a quick wave.

On gazelle legs, you totter over, drawn by the demands of the social contract. "Afternoon, Aradia. Getting ready for your night shift with a bit of sup?"

"Yeah, but nevermind that. How did you get your license _revoked?"_ she asks, leaning back on the railing behind her and squinting up at you. This is not a conversation you are interested in having, but you also aren't a jerk; you step to her other side so she's not having to look sun-ward to see you. That's supposed to be bad for troll eyes.

"You heard about that?" Which doesn't make a ton of sense. "The person who gave me that missive said they didn't read it…"

"Yeah, but in case you didn't notice, this outpost has at maximum around 250 people, and we all live stepping on each other's toes. When Crocker started inquiring with the staff about you, they told everyone else, obviously." The breeze knocks some of her hair into her face. She sputters and flips it back, out of the way. "Anyway, we hear the what, but no one has a clue why. Crocker doesn't even come _down_ here, so personal intervention is serious gossip material."

"You never struck me as the gossip type," you inform her a little sourly.

"Didn't I mention the close quarters and small population? We all have to evolve to suit our environments." She gives you a wicked grin, then puts it swiftly away. "I make an effort not to pry into the lives of tourists but… what happened? Word is you've been spending almost all your time in the soma. Crocker even handed out some discipline for not enforcing the four hour rule because one of your trips was almost 12 hours?" Her nose wrinkles at that. "If you wanted to be a long term submersion subject, we could've arranged that. I have loads of sensors and diodes to put on people."

"I…" Shit. "You-- your bread and butter is examining the ocean and all it has to offer! Maybe I just had-- had similar interests and got caught up looking at everything?"

"That sentence sounded like it ended in a question mark, which makes you sound kind of suspicious in ways I hadn't considered before." Her arms cross over her chest and the look she gives you is less aloof and oddball science lady, and a lot more _scientist with occupationally mandated curiosity and busybodyness_.

"Well, okay, that's a little…" You clam up because calling her nosy seems mean. You like Aradia! Just… not so much right this second. Isn't that always the way of things?

"When you came to get me, back when I was off-planet, what did you want to ask?" she asks.

"I don't even remember, that was ages ago!"

"It wasn't."

There is something about the way she stares that makes you feel smushed in a petri plate. And that deep fear rattles like a snake, making you feel flooded with ice. It's entirely accidental when you reach up and rub your shoulder, digging your thumb in.

The silence hanging between you is bad. Eventually, Aradia says, "You appear to be perspiring a lot. I should just remind you that I'm just wondering what's going on. Seems pretty apparent."

"There's nothing wrong!" you tell her sharply. It only makes her suspicious look grow. Fuck. Fuck fuck shit balls.

She stands, unfolding sort of slowly, like she doesn't want to make any sudden movements. Her lunchbox has a little handle she plucks up. "These seem like new symptoms to somatic exposure. It's hard not to draw a line between your time in the ocean to this… agitation." Her thumb touches her chin. "Maybe it's a confluence of things? The light down there alongside a strange somatic reaction?"

"Or maybe I'm just a little wound up because Janey cut off my access out of the clear blue yonder! Being jerked to a halt like that is liable to send anyone for a mental tailspin!"

Aradia hums and tips her head. "Jerked to a halt from what?"

Your tongue stops in your mouth.

There is something under your nervousness and fear, something that pushes up against your-- your mind and emotions and the words you are trying to line up, like something puffing up or inflating, filling. You can't say something now! What if you run your mouth straight into a wasp's nest?

You don't… know what to say. You wish there was a guide for this. All you want is to be left alone, and not wilting under a nice troll just concerned for you in perfectly acceptable but also _super unacceptable ways_.

Oh no. You're breathing a little too hard.

God you just want-- want to see Dirk and sit and watch him do his mer things and glow at you and stroke your hair. It's all catching in your throat in a humiliating way, and the only way this could be worse is if you started your crybaby routine in front of Aradia.

And then thinking about her seeing you tearing up makes your chest hurt _more_ , and…

"I have to go," you tell her. "I'm sorry, I can't help you, I just, I have to go, sorry!"

"Wait, what? Jake!"

Hearing the… you don't know what is in her voice. Irritation, annoyance at you for just turning tail and leaving, shock that a grown human could be such a numpty, all of it. You can imagine it easily.

Rubbing the heel of your hand against your eyes, you beeline back to the Bubble.

 

* * *

 

Here's the worst part, you think while you pace your room with both your hands running through your hair, over and over, trying to calm down for just a second.

The worst part is Aradia is a discerning, friendly (if a little creepy) lady who any other day you'd be happy to sit a spell with and have some lunch and talk about science and whatnot. She's a totally capital A plus gal!

And you just turned into a blubbering mess at the idea of talking to her!

So here is the nub, the scary looming thing you feel falling across you like the shadow of Godzilla falling upon a doomed city:

What are you going to tell _Jane?_

Jane isn't going to put up with you scampering off when you feel like having a cry. She's also not going to be nearly as polite about her questions as Aradia. And now, as you walk from one wall to the next in your room, you can see the view of the sun setting.

Another day gone. Another day closer to the final bell, to paying the piper, to certain doom.

That's a little dramatic maybe, but honestly not by much. You are spinning your wheels and they feel like they are going to pop off the axel and hit some poor bystander in the mouth, honestly. This is _always_ how it goes when you pull this crap, people always get hurt. _You_ get hurt.

Yeah, you're going to start crying. At least if you do it in the shower, you can pretend its mostly the water stream. Disrobing, you go and do that, even though it's not going to _help_ and just burn up more of your limited time.

After, you stand in your room, drip drying, and staring at the slice of sun that's just barely crested over the horizon. It's sinking fast. But in the open ocean leading up to it, everything is lighting up further with the lack of sunlight to compete with.

Your shower helped a little. And having the time to bawl for a bit, that too, if you're honest.

In the hollow space where your frustration and tears were all bottled up, now drained away, you have room to think. Even if your grey sponge feels tired and wrung out.

What you want is to go talk to Dirk. You want the amber light and the weird secondary hum of his words and his _positive reinforcement_ touches, as if he's fooling anyone. Certainly not you; it takes more than that to pull a fast one over Jake English.

At this point, is it possible to get into more trouble, honestly? It's a fairly freeing thought. What could happen if you went out and came back? Are they going to re-revoke your certification? Not likely. And given how angry Jane is, you're not coming back to Alcyone anytime soon.

That thought makes a shiver run down your spine. You don't want to think about that, how it makes something hysterical rise in you.

And really, you don't want to think about anything for a little bit. Is that such a crime? The best part of this vacation was undoubtedly meeting a handsome blue alien with great hands, but directly under that was the moments when you could just… go quiet and wallow in not having anything to worry about. Dirk was so self-assured (usually), it was hard to imagine something going wrong in his care.

As you walk over to the window, you give that thought some extra consideration.

Dirk is astoundingly clever. He has to be, in his position, dashing spy and nerdy researcher in one beautiful package. And if you maybe imposed a little on him and laid your troubles in his lovely, lovely hands…

The window was already cracked to let some air in. You push against it, and slide it further up. Already, you hurled some stuff out here and it worked out fine. Now, you push it up as far as it can go, which is a decent angle.

Planting one hand against the outside of the glass, you lean out and look down. The Bubble is nice and smooth, curved like its namesake. And this… might be fine?

You retreat long enough to get your armband and straw and put your airator back on. It's still cycling through colors. Checking the mirror, you slide your fingers around the band slowly; it fills with a solid hue, and then works through the color wheel until you find the right sort of orangey-honey color.

Now, a daring escape.

It's awkward as shit. You can't get your legs out the window, it's just too high up. You _can_ get one leg up and then one arm out, leaving you, uh, stretched across the open window in a spectacularly stupid way.

If you swing your other leg out now, you're going to do something stupid like dangle from the window. No, this calls for something more decisive.

You brace your hand and knee on the outside of the window and start to tip your body out. As soon as you feel gravity grab you, you shove with all your might, away from the Bubble.

And, cannonball.

Breaking the surface of the soma is an exuberant relief. For a few seconds, you just let momentum carry you down, sinking deeper and deeper. It feels wonderful to just submerge, and breathe out all your air to upgrade it to soma.

It's great, then that fucking giant anemone gropes your back. "Do you _mind?"_ you snap at it, spinning around and slapping it away. Then, you feel a little bad and stroke one of its tendrils softly. "Sorry, compadre. No time to hang out."

You know the way by now, and hurry along to the canyon, swimming at full force, full speed. If someone were to see you now, it'd be a disaster.

By now, you know the way.

But you also know, from the lack of light spilling out into the tunnel as you traverse it, Dirk is not here. Which is fine, you've waited for him before and it was never very long. It might be time for Mer Supper or what have you.

Upon arrival in the workshop, things are a little different. Thankfully it's not empty at all, because when things are missing, you have an instinctive fear reaction of Dirk being gone.

Really, it's just a few things. A lot of the bubbles in the ceiling are gone, though quite a few remain bobbing around up there. Some of the stolen and borrowed items are missing, particularly the Babeltech. And one of the woven baskets is gone.

Dirk did say he would have to go back and talk to his people back in Mer City, to bring them up to speed. Presumably that's where all the stuff is.

What remains is a lot more telling.

Terrybot sits in the direct middle of the table, as if he were the centerpiece to some ancient altar.

Floating a half foot above him is a bubble.

You approach cautiously, looking at it. This is… very incongruous and definitely odd. It's the only bubble not tucked carefully away, and situated so, you can't help but think… this is for you?

That is a terrible thought. The last time you tried out a magic mer bubble, it scrambled your brain and made Dirk think you were a dimwit for a week! Why on earth would he leave another for _you?_

But you also mentioned wanting to use them, and that he'd see what he could do...

For the time being, you leave it alone, and instead roll Terrybot closer until you can scoop him up into your arms. The basket you liked to sit on is gone, but you can just as well float there, legs tucked up, and see what grabs you.

You get halfway through _Ocean's 40_ before you just get tired of trying to keep track of all the characters. So many cons and counter cons and grifts and three sets of twins, it's a great film that comes with an interactive flowchart, but… you don't have the attention to keep track of it. Even if Keanu Reeves is such a great leading man.

And Dirk's still not back.

You put Terrybot down and reach out and grab the bubble.

It pops

and your brain floods with sound and light and _smell_ , Isaura smells heavier than the rest of the soma ocean, dense and rainwater and crystal and other things you barely understand, the sweet chalky brittle smell of crushed coral and soma straight from the heated jets, fresher, and-- and home is a funny thing, fraught and complicated but opening like parting seaweed forests and finding light on the other side, blue and purple and opal and colors that don't-- don't quite make sense-- and impermanence, motion and cycle and return and it's not even that far,

and _Dirk has gone home but didn't want you to be alone so it won't be for long._

You open your eyes again and your hands hurt from their iron grip on the edge of the table. You might be crying again. It's hard to tell.

But you…. got most of that? Or you think you did. It was just one idea, he left you just one thing, and it still was loaded with so much information and parts that built the idea, and _uuuugh_ your head.

What you could use right now is a wave of Dirk's amber light to soothe the craggy mess that simple message left of your head. That would be a treat of a balm right now, especially with his felty hands in your hair.

Maybe if you think very hard about the feeling, it'll help. You focus on the exact hue of the light, how it moves through soma almost like the speed of light has been wound down to visible movement, and how it pours in. That treacle seeping into you, dripping down your neck, into your spine.

Not the same as the real thing, but you blink a few times and feel a little steadier. Is this what meditation is like? You haven't a clue.

So Dirk intends to come back. That's good.

You don't know when he left, or what his timetable is.

On top of that, in the wake of running into Aradia and crying in the shower and absconding, you have solidly missed dinner. Going back to the lido deck for a nice hot meal is not possible. But Dirk's fed you before, and you sort of vaguely know from where, even.

One of the things Dirk left you is the ball lamp you used to find this place originally. When you pick it up and twist it, it comes on easily. This will do great.

You swim back out of the workshop and to the canyon again. And for the first time, you look right and stare into the darkness. He's come from there before. There must be a way, something like a hidden turn.

There is time to kill now, and it's not a terrifying prospect anymore. Steeling yourself, you push off and start to swim, lopsided as you hold your lamp in one hand, outstretched ahead of you.

The same thing repeats over and over in your head: Dirk swam this way. It was fine. Dirk swam this way and it was _fine._

Also this way is probably those pod-things. You could really go for one right about now.

Hanging onto that makes the journey into the darkness a little easier. A few times, you feel the slightest current and freeze, waiting for something to reach out and grab you or something. But it's quiet here, and empty, and eventually you stop tensing and just bloody swim already.

The punchline finally comes as your lamp shines on a far, far wall, straight ahead of you. Which is still boring and featureless, but it's a change, and that's all that matters.

You look around, and it's below you that you see light. You quickly shut off your lamp, and there is a… a hooked passage below, and you know the colors of Alcyone flora by now. Fucking paydirt, finally!

And that is how you find an entire new reef in a secret little cavern. The passage splits and opens into a flat carpet of coral and waving stalks that reach up like towers of foliage and light, and more of those enormous clam things you saw at the aquarium. The area is so wide and expansive, it could just be an open area.

But high above you, the canyon walls come closed, with just a gap of split earth letting the clean sharp moonlight in, shining down in straight sheets of blue and lavender pale light. It sparks brightly as fish swim through the moonbeams, illuminating almove blindingly, then vanishing again amid the reef bed.

It's beautiful, a whole new kaleidoscopic cornucopia of somatic life than the COO's perimeter. And it feels hidden in a way that calms you all the way down.

Also, you definitely see some of those pod-things attached to some waving stalks. You swim straight over to one and twist it off, ready to chow down.

Setting the lamp to full brightness, you put it on a smooth bit of rock by the passage back to the canyon. It sticks out like a sore thumb, thankfully, and you busy yourself eating some starchy floral pod insides and kicking your legs, swimming out a bit.

This must be the path Dirk took, you realize. There is not a chance in all the nine hells that his trip back to Isaura took him back up by the COO. Far too dangerous. So, this deep, strange, almost subterranean grove must've been his way home.

So, it'll be his way back! It's fine to chill here for a bit. You'd even be hard-pressed to get lost; hey, there's a giant, long crack in the ceiling! One end points to the canyon! Easy. Not that Dirk's workshop wasn't fine, but a new place to explore was pretty exciting. Especially a pretty safe one. Somewhere to stretch your legs.

You try to keep moving laterally, directly away from the passage, even though honestly you're not worried? You are just keenly aware that sometimes you _should_ be worried about goings-on and then you aren't and then things explode, metaphorically or literally.

The scenery is very nice. It's _scenic_ , a lot of soft blues and purples and bright pops of warm glows that would ensnare you if you weren't careful.

There's a long eel-thing in the grove, almost leaping from one cluster of coral and flora to another. It swoops down, through a bit of leafy stuff, then flies up in a perfect rainbow arch, then back down. When it happens to pass you by, you reach out and let your fingers drag against it's side as it soars away. It's damned cool, and you grin, paddling on.

When you throw your half-eaten pod away, you get to watch some crystalline crustacean things scurry over and start fighting over it. Just because you can, you pull another pod loose and open it, toss it down to the crabby crabs. "No fighting needed," you tell them uselessly.

You paddle on, amusing yourself however you can, exploring the grove, admiring everything out here. Have the COO scientists found a place like this yet? You have no idea how well its hidden, or if there are other places like this. It seems plum perfectly untouched, virginal in a pretty undisturbed sense, not so much the other, grosser senses.

You avoid the bigger things down here, even if you get the impression nothing is particularly hungry for human aliens. A great glassy sleeve creature sails around aimlessly, no bones, no face, no appendages. Just a weird tube that follows the small schools of fish around and swallows them up. And one of those great jellyfish shows up, but you bop it on the head and send it on its way, the great gobbling lummox.

It must be a fair distance you've traversed. The crack overhead starts to spilt further and further, and the cavern walls on either side expand out until you can barely see them through the slight ocean haze.

There is no point where it opens out from an oceanic mountain or anything, but the terrain gets a little less flat, some peaks and valleys. So you must've found the world beyond the cavern, even further off from the COO and the canyon.

Never let it be said you're a complete dingus; you slow your roll right about there, and stay in the vicinity of the grove cavern. The view is fine from here and you're not about to go and get yourself _lost_.

There is always the airator and its sonar alarm. But that would be bad, escaping for another dive only to need rescue. Not a great look, really.

You hover, kicking your legs just enough to stay suspended, peering out at the horizon down here, where the distance becomes blue murky darkness. Maybe the city of the mers is out there. Maybe you'll float here and see familiar amber light cut through the far shroud. That would be just the bee's knees in the cat's pajamas and all.

But you don't see amber light. There's plenty else. Dark, indistinct shapes. The bioluminescence out here tosses color and light upward, but not quite enough to illuminate the larger things swimming by. A squid thing. A troupe of sea slugs flying by with their ribbony fins and colorful plumage. A smack of jellyfish. And, oh, you recognize the really weird fish from the aquarium, what with the big ball of gel under its gullet.

"Gluefish" is a deeply unimaginative, unfortunate name. You squint at it, trying to come up with something better.

Kiserfish has a great ring, though is pretty non-descriptive. Oh, maybe something like Poseidon's Shuttlecock, given the big round thing and how fast it swims.

While you are brainstorming, the poorly named bugger seems to notice you and doesn't take kindly to being gawked at. To your shock, even dragging around that big ball of stuff, it twists and changes course on a fucking dime.

It has a big creepy mouth. Toothless but gaping, as if stuck open.

You kick back a little bit, uncomfortable just looking at the thing. As it cuts through the water like a torpedo, you realize it is… taking a long time to reach you and is _much_ bigger than you assumed. Not the little guppy you saw in the aquarium. No, this great transparent menace is a monster, so large watching it move gives you a sense of _wrongness_ because nothing that large should be able to swim that fast.

Hell's tumultuous bells, you yelp, swimming out of the things way, peeling off to the left and feeling the entire current of soma shift with the fish's movement.

Poseidon's fucking Chariot Horse more fucking like! You gasp and glance nervously back at the grove, just in time to watch it pivot around like… like something that pivots a hell of a lot better than a giant fish should! Shit!

That's when the really weird thing happens, you clap your hand against your shoulder as it lights up with sensation, a brimming spill of alertness, as if the skin had a cup full of hypervigilance splashed on it.

You lift your hand, craning your neck to look. The spots are all lit up. Not the dim glow from when you examined it in the mirror, but _beacon_ bright.

It's friction against your attention, trying to hold you in place. The only reason you don't stare more is because that angle sort of hurts your neck, and the rush of comfortable lush heat can't get a grip on you.

So you do look up, and you watch the fucking horrorfish spark up, so bright its eerie translucent body vanishes in the glow.

And it's amber, honey thick amber that hits you upside your head like a crowbar. A crowbar wrapped in a pillow, but still.

There is something in you that is so… so intensely satisfied with this, the real thing colliding with the stressed out folds of your psyche. It's like a great comforting hand strokes through it all, smooths it out until the tension drips out of your head and down your spine and kicked out of your feet. It's fantastic.

It also nearly gets you killed as the fish closes in and nearly catches you. You manage to push off a rock just in time, and instead of instant doom, your leg catches against the top rim of the fish's great toothless gob and you fucking go spiraling off through the soma with a cry.

Sure, soma makes you speedy quick and doesn't resist you as much, but also, fucking slowing down once you're set off is nigh impossible. There is nothing in your grasp, even as you pinwheel your arms. And honestly, since you can't quite figure out which way you're spinning, you might be making shit worse!

So you stop, and wait for inertia to go fuck itself already, _christ._ Only then can you get your bearings.

The grove is above your head. You're inverted. You kick and turn until you're righted, and can look around again.

You do this just in time to scream as the fish's mouth appears like a wall behind you. The _entire inside_ is-- is like a big mass of amber, like a sticky funnel, and it reaches beyond your eyes and through your panic and wrestles with it. You head is still spinning like your body before, and you-- you have to move! _Move!_

You swim hard, trying to throw yourself out of the path of this thing.

You nearly manage it. This time, it catches you just about in the ribs, with such speed and force it winds you. All the soma in your lungs is knocked out, and you gulp in a big gasp. Your legs kick into the side of its mouth, and nearly lodge; the skin is soft, or beyond soft, it's malleable and instead of finding a foothold, your toes slip back to flail against the open space in its jaws.

Everything slows down. It's hard to be sure through the.. the haze trying to pull over your mind and soak in, but you think the fish has stopped its madcap, ludicrous speed. The current eases a little, and your entire body shakes as you lift your head.

Your arms grip tight onto the little ledge you have, and you heave yourself up to look around. Outside, you can see the grove pass out of sight as you move out of its view, and turned towards the murky horizon line.

Outside, because you are inside. Heart racing, you look around, and see the wide, wide curve of the fish's mouth. It's gleaming bright and wet with amber, the same gentle glow that has spelt so many good hours with good company for you. And now it…

You inhale, your eyes fluttering, and rest your cheek against your arm for a moment. This is bad. This also makes no sense. Why is it doing this? Why does it have Dirk's lovely glow?

You cannot begin to sort it out. Even as you try to shut your eyes and get yourself together, you can't keep a grip on the danger. It keeps escaping you, dancing out of your range, and you are too lethargic to keep up.

"Dirk," you mumble against your arm, as if a small utterance could summon him for you.

It doesn't. Instead you blurrily look again, and its so much brighter in here now. The fish's mouth is nearly shut, closing in on you and cutting off the outside light, leaving you stuck in this covetous sticky glow.

There's a firm pressure on your arms as the mouth fully shuts. Aware you need to be doing something, you get one arm yanked free and try to lift the mouth back open. It's heavy like cinderblocks, and now you're just left with one arm keeping you out of the scary back of this fish's weird funnel mouth. Yuck.

You're just thinking about how to work up your strength and maybe force the mouth open, ooh, or tickle it? There's a lot of soft flesh in here, maybe its ticklish and you can force it to open?

That doesn't happen. Instead, you feel pressure around your entire body, and force simultaneously pushing into you and pulling, until your hooked arm starts to hurt as you try to keep it bent, keep your grip.

The pressure eases for just a moment as you pant, startled and confused. Then it comes back again, harder, and-- oh. It's suction. The damn monster is sucking you in.

You try to get your fingers through its mouth, but the grip is gummy and slippery. And you feel it dragging your arm straight. Inch by inch, you're slipping, and as you do the mouth closes around you, taking away any hope of handhold.

Eyes open to try and figure out a way to stop this, you feel yourself slipping mentally too, your focus clouding like breath on glass. If you just… could pay the hell attention…

The fish presses its mouth down on your wrist, suction easing, then parts its mouth just enough for you to slip free.

And then its jaws close.

But that is all secondary to how you fall once you are pried loose. Your belly runs flat against the pillow-softness that makes up the fish's mouth, and you slide back. Hands shoved into the flesh do a whole lot of nothing, and you can't catch yourself as you slide rapidly back to the… throat? Oh shit.

One last stroke of inspiration has you rolling onto your back instead and sticking your legs straight up. All you need is to jam yourself and keep from sinking further; if an animal gets food caught, surely it'll cough it up or something.

But that would require your feet to catch. Which they don't. Double oh shit.

There is an aperture at the back of this funnel, predictably enough, and there is no pause or suspense as your feet tuck together and into it. Suddenly, the squishy softness gives way to a firm pressure that brokers no argument as it draws you in.

Legs forced together, you fall into the thing, and let out a faint confused moan. This is… bad. Your head is fuzzy and full of glowing cotton, but even you can tell this is bad. You shouldn't be relaxing back, letting your spine go loose and allowing your head to slump, lolling back to stare up at this whole room of glow.

You reach out and touch the wall, curious if its slick with something. As far as you can tell, it's just incredibly smooth and pliant. That's funny. You expected slime.

It's like being dragged somewhere, but with a velvet blanket under you. And five layers of down. Even if you could muster up two clever thoughts to rub together, it's no use. The grip around your feet squeezes and pulls, bit by bit until you are up to your knees. Then, as the heels of your hands skip against the mouth, it works gradually up your thighs. The pressure is intense and unrelenting but for little ripples of movement drawing you in. So far, it doesn't hurt though. Is that a good thing? You have no idea.

Getting your hips in seems hard for it. Pulled upright and unable to do anything but stare blankly down, you feel and watch at the same time as it works your hips down, slowly engulfing your ass. For you, it feels like everything beyond your own skin is amber, like you are sinking into that light.

The throat works around you, squeezing and massaging your back and abdomen as you drop in. Then you have to lift your arms, unsure what to do with them. The aperture swallows you in bobbing gulps, down and down and down, until it sucks in your pecs and you are again caught with your arms preventing your descent.

That doesn't last long. Abruptly, the entire throat opens wide, and your elbows tuck in.

Dimly you realize you aren't going to see Dirk again, and it curdles the honey drenched calm in your mind. You should have stayed. Just watched another movie, just…

Instinctively, you inhale deeply before your head is swallowed. That's a uniquely alien feeling, the twisty tightening of this thing as it shimmies and pulls you deeper, presumably to its stomach.

Maybe taking a deep breath wasn't the best idea. You might not want to be conscious for this part?

For a moment, all you know is slow juttery movement, in further with each swallow.

And then, you fall free all at once.

The super tight pressure of the throat lets you go, and you fall onto something, and feel your body immediately surrounded, enveloped, encased. Faint pressure touches every inch of your skin as you float there, arms open, legs cocked a little open, and head supported by… something.

You dare to open your eyes.

The amber light's gone, more's the pity. Instead, you can see…

You can see the ocean? What the fuck?

Dredging your brain out of the soupy mire and back to awareness takes precious seconds, but the journey has a little more giddy-up to it because _you can see outside again._ It's through a thick blurriness, but there are somatic lights sweeping by you and the glimmering hues of the ocean in slow dreamy gradient, and it's all sweeping by under you as you face down, unable to move.

And you try. By god, as soon as you realize you are not dead or about to be digested, you wiggle around, trying to move. But all around you is a thickness that resists you, forces you back into place.

Oh shit, you need to breathe. You shake and pull and try desperately to budge, but it's like fighting against perfect suction, clinging to you, holding you.

Now you are about to cry, to drop the soft amber relaxation and find the panic waiting underneath the surface, read to boil and overflow.

That is when something shoves against your face and washes your mouth and nose with cool soma.

You breathe. You exhale. You breathe deep again.

Jiminy fucking christmas, what thicket have you gotten your star-crossed ass stuck in now?!

The effort to turn you head and look around is unbelievable, like moving through sludge. Just looking to your left takes precious seconds as you push and push and push against the cloudy translucent stuff around you.

Finally, through the corner of your eye, you can see up and behind you. There is the body of the fish. You can see its tail stroking away, propelling it steadily on without a care in the world, and least of all a care for you. And you can see some appendage has snaked down to fix to your mouth. That's… weird, but you'll take it over the alternative.

As soon as you stop pushing, your head is pulled back into place, facing forward. There is a solid ache left from all that work, and you take a moment to catch your breath again.

Taking stock, you try to suss out where you actually are. This… isn't a stomach. And you remember this is the unfortunately-named gluefish. You watched a little one and read the little blurb on it. They just senselessly hauled around a big ball of gel under their mouth! Ergo you are…

Stuck in a ball of gel?

That left the million credit question: why the fuck would a fish chase you and shove you ingloriously in its gel ball? The fact it wasn't going to eat you isn’t so comforting now that you cannot fucking move.

You have no answers. So you have nothing to do but try again.

This time, you reach out with all your might and extend your legs, pulling your knees up to try and replace them with a foothold, anything to drag yourself out of position. At the same time, your fingers claw, trying to grasp the gel and shove it back.

It's maybe the hardest labor of your life. You suck in gasp of soma and kick and haul yourself, like a salmon fighting the rapids. More than once, you freeze, locking your body in place to just get your strength back, and continue on.

Your whole body aches, your spine feels awkwardly bent, and your legs are cramping like daggers digging into your thighs.

You manage to push two fingers against the edge of the gel. To your astonishment, they just slip through, out of the gel. You can feel soma against your fingertips.

All it takes is one second of broken concentration, and you lose it, you lose every centimeter you bodily heaved out of this damn thing. The gel yanks you back into place like a disobedient dog with a retractable leash, and you snap back into suspended place.

Okay. Forget it. This is fine. You pant and shut your eyes, resigned to at least taking a break. God, you hurt.

The gel's weight on you almost feels nice as you settle down and let it hold you. When you were a kid, your Gran gave you a heavy blanket to help you sleep. The heft of it always helped somehow. This nearly feels like that, but it presses up against your belly and wraps around your legs and even locks around your neck.

You sigh and recoup, feeling the distant rush of the ocean soaring by below and the movement of the fish's long ornate tail above.

When you can convince yourself to open your eyes again, you realize this fish has been swimming in one direction since it caught you. That seems significant. Purposeful in a way animals usually aren't?

You don't have a lot of options, so you watch through the slight distortion of the gel. It's likely that you missed a whole lot in the midst of being swallowed and then making a game attempt to jailbreak out of this sphere. Below you, there are fluorescent coral forests with red and orange and pink porous stoney towers that reach up higher than you can see, and far below what seem like long coordinated schools of blue fish, navigating the ocean bed in perfectly harmonious movement that would put the greatest traffic systems in the galaxy to shame.

The coral forest ends as the bed drops into a deep gorge. You can see the walls that cut straight down. All of them are eerily smooth, and have tidy holes, many of them pouring out light, like a hotel with half the lights on.

The gorge closes again, and the ocean bed is a flat plane of little peaked vents that spew up warm currents, the soma shimmering different colors above each little hole. All around, you can see giant sea slugs, each one at least thrice your size, milling around the scene. They ripple their colorful nudibranch feet around, heads floating near the vented soma. A few cluster in piles, an eyesore of colors draped over each other. Nudicows, you think to yourself, idly, and snort.

Another scenery change, to another steep valley. It rises and falls sharply all around. Attached to its rocky formations are clams or mussels or whatever, each on giant. And you-- you think you see things moving among them, opening the shells and--

The valleys vanish behind you, and you cry at the loss, trying to twist and look back. Tucking your chin down means shoving the gel out of the way, but you grind your teeth and try.

It's taking too long, and you give up, going pliant again, gaze dragged back up.

And you lay eyes upon a city.

A great mountain rises up from the depths and stands before you, its height so severe you cannot look up enough to see it. It's pitch black, its distant outline melting into the expanse of the ocean, at once rocky and weirdly amorphous.

In the middle of the mountain is a fissure, wide and cracked like a geode. And like a geode, inside you can see complex glowing treasures.

It's only as your pilot closes in on the cracked open mountain that you get a decent look. Inside is hollow, and wide open, and filled with rich slate blue structures, grainy and scattered with illuminated glassy shapes. Rounded mounds with glowing domed ceilings, intersecting archways with trellises of flora hanging off, a tower topped in smooth layered discs stacked on top of each other, windows set into the shape, giant stalactites with great round birdhouse spheres hanging from their tips.

The centerpiece is a column, as thick around as Yggdrasil, made of the same black rock as the mountain's face. Spaced out along its length are strange mushroom formations, sticking out. And of course, each one shines like a penny in the sun.

Everything seems oddly jumbled, so many different types of structures and architecture overlapping and colliding, like an modern city built on the calcified remains of an old city that was in turn built over ancient ruins.

The fish crosses into the mouth of this hollow place, all the moonlight disappearing behind you and replaced with somatic glow. The fact you can't look around is killing you now, as you can see things moving around you! There are beings here, swimming in groups from one place to the next, into rounded structures and through other buildings that seem to be just floating balls of plantstuff, drifting idly around without a care.

Some people are accompanied by the ribboned nudicows. Though as you watch someone swim by with a harness around the nudibranch's head, maybe nudihorse is a more accurate term?

And they're mers. All of them. There's not a set of legs to be seen all around.

This is Isaura.

There is enough to feast your peepers on for days, gorge yourself on alien sights until you can't take anymore visual stimulus and pass out. But your fish has other plans, and moves with the same simple-minded determination.

It heads directly for the center column, that looms intimidating and staggering in size. You tip all the way back as your captor heads for the top, flitting between floating buildings and nudi-riders and wide stretched nets.

All the way up, to one of the wide mushroomy flats that sticks out of the column in a crescent curve. The fish aims right for the bottom, and you can just barely see the underside of the structure has wide holes, perfectly round, open.

You swoop right into one, and your fish comes to a halt at long fucking last.

After a moment, your eyes adjust.

It looks like Dirk's workshop, but turned up to eleven. There is wide floor space between the holes in the ground, and long tables set out, stretching from the narrow inner wall all the way out to the opposite like spokes. The inner wall is just shelves. Endless shelves, and fastenings to hold hammock nets loaded with random shit you don't recognize, and alcoves perfectly fit for each tool inside.

The ceiling is adorned with long tubes full of thick glowing stuff. Blue over here, pink over there, a shifting pearlescent mix in the center. And the outer wall, furthest from the column, you… can't see.

You hang there, unsure what's to come, and just as sure you're going to be stuck here until whatever's to come hurrys up and gets here.

There's no way to measure how long you wait, outside how antsy you get, trying again to squirm against the gel. These efforts come to a screeching halt when there is movement in front of you, and something appears in front of you, outside the gel.

Someone. They are humanoid shaped, but that's about all you can see in the strange light and through the gel. But you can tell when hands press flat to the sphere, the outline of their hands splayed wide, their face coming in close.

They pull back for a second, just a beat before their hands thrust into the gel.

Fingers cup your sides, thumbs pressing against your back. With great ease, they keep hold of you and pull you straight out of the gel, as if it were less cement and more jello.

The breathing mask thing falls off you, and immediately you reach up to rub the lingering muck off you. It's heavy and viscous, and you are quite sick of it already, thank you.

The hands help you, wiping the lingering remains away.

As soon as you are clean, you are bodily turned around, the hands still grasping you tight. They are… actually rather big. _Really alarmingly large_ now that you take the time to notice. Big enough one hand can almost wrap around your chest.

"Uh," you say, stunned and nervous all over again. You look down, and see the sheer length of their paws on you, holy shit. You could _maybe_ get your hand around one of their fingers. That's terrifying.

And past their hand, past your dangling feet, you can see not a long whippy mer tail, but tentacles. They spill out and drape over each other. A few wrap loosely around the base of a table.

You suck in a shaking breath and try to hold the fuck still. You've already cheated certain death enough for the day, thanks.

Whoever has you, they hum softly, and stroke your back. You twitch, unable to shake the feeling of once again being in the hold of a dangerous creature.

Holding still like a scared mouse seems to suit the mer fine. Their hand strokes your shoulder, thumb moving in odd little swipes. You twitch all over again when they pinpoint the glowy skin laid onto yours; the same feeling as before happens, the feeling of light flicking on. As soon as it does, the mer's hum rises in pitch. It's excitement, a giddy excitement like soda fizz. They babble something you can't catch, and you try to glance back at them.

Their tentacles spring into motion, all of them moving in unison. Some push back away from the table. Others spread out, grasping the floor, pulling the mer along with impressive speed. Just watching the movement feels like seeing an optical illusion, beautiful but unsettling.

Before you can take in much more of what's happening, they carry you out to the far wall you couldn't see.

It's coated in a thick viscous gel. The mer shoves you into it swiftly. Your shoulders sink in before you yelp and start kicking. "No, no, no thank you, I did this already! Stop, come the fuck on!"

But they are big, and they are much stronger than you are, and while you struggle, they grab your flailing limbs and methodically shove each onto into the gel on the wall. It holds you despite throwing everything you have left against it. You think it's that one kind of thing, the weird fluid. Non-euclidean? Whatever, it's just about the worst substance in the universe.

You wind up seated with just your torso and head floating freely. Everywhere else, you are embedded, to your absolute annoyance. "Is this necessary?" you ask, looking up at your least favorite person on all of Alcyone.

The mer eases back, and puts hands on their hips, right above where they turn to rich violet-black tentacles. Above the tentacles, the mer is an even darker shade of black, the kind that seems to swallow all light. Along their chest are curling, ornate stripes that glow a warm, welcoming pink hue, leading your eyes this way and that as you try to take them all in. The spots and stripes are perfect, as if designed, creating new shapes on the dark canvas of their skin.

When you drag your eyes up to their face, they are staring at you with wide pale eyes. When you meet their gaze, they beam and clap their hands together, sing-songing something. It's nice. You can't pick out the meaning, but it's very nice.

They reach out to you and pat your cheek with one big hand before pushing off the floor. As they spread wide, you can see the tentacles have ruffled fins stretched between each one. The movement as they swim off is confusing and captivating.

For a second, you forget to be pissed you are _again stuck in gel._

Trying to get free nearly wrenches your shoulder, and you whine, sinking back in irritated submission.

This quite profoundly sucks. Given the complete humdinger of a day that you've had, you wonder how long this is going to last. Surely you have done enough time cemented in place and helpless? This is unfair, honestly.

Dirk wouldn't stick you in-- okay, maybe he would. He did put you in the bell jar plant a few times, but you are mostly sure that was just to keep you tidy and comfy as you slept. If you shouted at him, he wouldn't leave you in the stupid gel.

But oh. Oh, speak of the devil-fucking-dickens.

The big tentacled mer swims back in through one of the holes in the floor.

Right behind them is your mer, his eyes wide as he swims in and spins in place, looking around.

Dirk's eyes fall on you, and his mouth drops open.

And you heave out a breath, exhaling weariness and frustration and confusion out into the soma, and letting a warm sense of solace take its place.

"There you are," you murmur, and smile at him. Elation fills you as he softly smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what fuck it i wrote soft vore, i got no shame. the mers gotta keep track of the specimens who wander off _somehow_ and this is exactly the kind of weird shit they do, folks. /JAZZZHANDS
> 
> I think Chariotfish is the best name for that helpful speedy fellow. Very apt.
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: lets actually learn how the heck these weirdass aquatic space elves work, huh?! and maybe jake and dirk will smooch idk.


	8. permanent forms of tourism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> body mod, body mod, remember the body mod

Dirk is your favorite person on Alcyone because he is quick about swimming forward and starting to unearth you from your mint jello shackles.

There must be something weird about how the jelly works; his hands slip in without trouble and don't even start to catch in the muck as he pulls your arms out. You immediately put them around his shoulders as he loosens your legs and hips too. When he pulls, you go easily, letting him tuck you in his arms. "Hello, sailor," you tell him quietly. "You would not believe the day I've had."

Dirk gives you a slightly perplexed look, but doesn't respond right away. One hand he keeps wrapped under your thighs, anchoring you in, as the other cleans the remaining jelly off you with focused flicks of his hands. Chuckling, you stretch out one arm so he can clean that too.

As he does, your eyes stray to the other mer, the big tentacled one with the glowing marks all over like tattoos. They are grinning brilliantly, and _staring_ at you both.

You tense up, and Dirk must feel it because with one stroke of his tail, he spins around and looks at the other mer too. His hand rests on the your shoulder.

There is some kind of nonverbal joust going on between them. Then a few things happen in brisk succession:

The other mer propels themselves forward with a quick pull of their tentacles, and they reach out for you. It's so quick, you don't have time to react outside tightening your grip on Dirk. The mer's hand strokes through your hair, giving you a shiver down your spine.

Dirk darts back, out of their range, and your face winds up sort of mashed into his neck as he crushes you against him. "Mmph!"

You get your elbows against him to push back, enough to catch the absolutely wintery withering glare Dirk gives the other mer.

They only beam back, and let out that mer chortle, lighting up with pinky bright color. Dirk sighs, and loosens his tight hold of you. Now that you're paying attention, you can feel the low hum from him, agitated but swiftly settling into something warm and contented.

The other mer waves their arms at you and turns away, suddenly scurrying off on their rippling legs to the other side of the room.

And that seems to be that, as Dirk sighs again. With firm coaxing, he pushes you around his body until you can dig into the floaty fins on his back. It's definitely not a hardship, and it's a good anchor besides. Given the silky softness, you almost worry about how delicate the fins are, but when Dirk bursts into movement, swimming away, you have no choice but to scramble for a handhold. Which means your fingers curl tight in the vibrant orange fluff, and you hold on as he arches up through the soma and downs through one of the holes in the floor.

You are inverted as Dirk swims, following his graceful arch into a wide loop that pulls you along. Looking down, the ground seems like a steep plummet away, even though you know if you let go of Dirk, you wouldn't necessarily fall or anything. Still, you pull in, reaffirming your grip, because wow, Dirk can really gun along when he wants! Like being tied to a rocket.

Peering along the flight trajectory, you see Dirk spiral away from the central tower and its fanned curves. He carries you out a fair distance until you aren't sure where you're going?

But you're heading to one of the floating spheres that drift around Isaura, high up and separate from everything else. As you close in, the shape starts to resolve a little better: it looks like one of those sea urchin shells, round with segments like an orange, each one covered in perfectly symmetrical lumps and stripes and bumps, orange and purple melding together.

Only as you close in do you recognize how _enormous_ the thing is. Like one of the COO buildings, a larger one. It hangs there, and Dirk tilts, twirls to the side a few times as you cling to his back. The somatic pirouette lets him swim under it, and there's another wide hole here, dead center of the colorful shell where its segments come to a point.

You both soar right through the hole, and Dirk finally slows, coming to a stop inside.

He floats there for a moment. You take the hint and let go, nudging off him to look around.

And you yelp at the giant fucking creature just a foot below your slowly kicking feet, throwing yourself away from it in surprise. "What is that, shit!"

Dirk grabs your arm and says something in his language. It's indistinct, but comforting, quelling as he pats you.

You take a deep breath and look down again.

Speaking of things that are much larger when you are closer, it's one of the… nudihorses. Nudicows. Whatever. It's a giant sea slug, eyeless, but with floaty feathered feelers coming out of its approximate 'head', like one of those weird lizard things. The axolotl? The vague head tilted up towards you, feelers drifting in your direction as it stretches its longish neck. The body is tapered, long almost ruffled ribbon fins running down its sides, pulling back into a fancy paddle tail.

As you peer apprehensively at the great colorful thing, it nudges closer on nubby feet, slow and pretty unthreatening now that you're paying attention.

Dirk pats your shoulder. "Safe, please calm," he tells you curtly. He approaches the creature, and puts both hands on its head, digging his hands into its feelers and petting it.

Okay. This is fine. Big clydesdale-sized sea slug thing. You can handle this.

The thing seems to be tipping its big doofy head to you despite Dirk's aggressive affection. You tear your eyes away and look around.

The inside of this floating shell doohickey is… a house. Or so you assume; it's rather different from anything you've seen before but you _think_ what you are getting a gander of is a mer home.

After a moment of surveying, you realize it must be, it's just built with mers in mind; vertical instead of horizontal like the residences of gravity-obeying creatures like yourself. The floor is coated in soft kelpy stuff, green and blue plantstuff, presumably for the safe pal to graze on, like the nudicows you saw outside. You don't know how you feel about a giant nudicow indoors, but given the size of the place, that might be fine.

There are hard, straight pillars around the room, maybe spines harvested from the original owner of this shell. Strung between several of them are hammocks in neat rows, each one loaded with stuff. Between two pillars you can see trails of bubbles, gently swaying but fastened with spiderweb-looking string.

The shadows in here keep moving, because the lights are weird blobby firefly fish that swim idly around along the curved walls.

Directly below is the hole, and the long long drop through Isaura's cavern. You quickly stop looking that way, in the opposite direction.

Above you is a big conical shell thing hanging down, its open mouth wide. Along the inside is more anemone tendrils, glowing a soft orange color. No idea what that is. Maybe another mer light fixture? But in the far corner, you seen another bell jar plant thing, this one smaller than the one in the workshop, and each tendril filled with… more stuff. Puzzling everything out is going to be about as pleasant as a kick to the noggin.

Your attention returns to Dirk when he reaches up and grabs your foot, pulling you down and himself up. Being closer to the big slug thing is a little nerve-wracking, but Dirk wouldn't let something hurt you, you're certain.

"Can you hear me, understand words?" Dirk asks when you are face-level with each other, his hands settling on your hips.

"Yeah, but you've gone all brusquey again," you inform him.

"Oh. Wait." His crown pulls in, three spots illuminating. You blink as amber soaks into you, filling your head like gold-strewn fog.

Dirk leaning in and fitting his mouth softly against yours is unexpected but by no means unwelcome. You hum at him, hoping that's good encouragement, and he hums right back. It unpacks and unravels, draping over your senses and refolding, overlapping, turning your brain waves into origami as the expression in his tone expands.

You part, and open your eyes slowly.

"Is this clearer?" Dirk says, and already you can hear him more, feel the nuance in his words.

"Like crystal and clear water and glass," you tell him, smiling. "That's a handy trick up your metaphorical sleeve."

"It'll work for now. Roxy's working on something a little easier." His crown glowbulbs shiver and drift around, shining over you both. "I couldn't do this for her, see, because it's contingent on your affinity for my seathrall, and that doesn't really-- sorry, nevermind."

"No, no, it's interesting! I'm interested." You squeeze his shoulders. "Just also, well, plum fucking tuckered out. Do you have any idea the horseshit I've been hauled through today? And the past few days on top of that, gracious fucking goodness!"

Dirk winces and drifts off, pulling you down further until he settles onto the loamy sea-grassy floor. There is a slight roundness to it under your feet as you follow, the curved shape of the giant shell obvious.

His tail loops widely around you both, and curls around you as you try to settle in. It's hard to relax as the big colorful slug thing leans over you both, its feathery head following your movements.

"Roxy, was that the octo-mer up there?" You review the somewhat panicked mental footage you have of her. "Is that the-- the what is it, the dimorphism? Tentacles versus long tails?"

Dirk tilts his head at you. "Hm. No. I think our species spectrums aren't mapping over quite right. Body shape doesn't have anything to do with it. Are your females not larger?"

You snort in shock. "Uh, well, that's a tricky subject depending on who you ask, but generally no? Why, how's it work for you?"

Dirk shrugs. "I would be at one end of the spectrum. I am… smaller, faster, and I…" His mouth twists as he hums, searching for words like a beach comber hunting for seaglass. "I apply more adornments than others would. Roxy, she is further along the spectrum from me, because she is larger and limits more… extravagant applications. But the people are all along that…" He holds out his hands, making a cross. Or, you guess, an X-Y axis. "That continuum. It's a little more complicated but, does that make sense to you?"

"I guess so! One end, small and fancy. The other, big and less fancy." You stretch out your feet into the space between you; your heels rub through the plant growth. It's fairly thick, like an overgrown carpet. "So where would I fall, fair fiery finned fellow?"

His tail lifts, the orange fin fanning out before flattening again. "That's… up to you. Uh, anyway. Are you… alright?"

That is a good point. It's so damned easy to get distracted around him, with all his amber and weird round house and weirder slug pet that is still looming around, nibbling on the taller stalks of kelp. "I am-- I suppose I'm _fine_ but what in the hell was all that! A fish chased me down and swallowed me and, I don't know, shuttled me over here like a jumpship? How? Why?"

"That is…" Dirk strokes a hand through his tendril hair. "That creature, it was doing its job. There are many of them in the vicinity of Isaura. Just in case something wanders off, we don't have to catch it."

"Wow, all right." Leaning forward, you rest on your elbows, frowning at Dirk, who can't seem to take that for long and looks away. "In case what wanders off?"

"Look, I didn't realize you would venture from your settlement like that!" Dirk says quickly, his spots flushing all over. You carefully focus on his face. Not that doing so is _much_ of a help, his spokes are still lit up. No matter what, amber is saturating you. Given how tired you are, it's hard to ignore.

"It-- it lit up like you! The whole process of increasing shenanigans was weird!"

"Yes. But… not painful? And it's not meant to be stressful. We created them specifically to keep their quarry calm for the capture process. Did that… not happen?"

You are dangerously close to pouting. "I s'pose I was pretty blitzed out, enough not to give a fig that I was being devoured by a big scary fish. Don't much know how I feel about being a big gulper's quarry though."

"It's a precaution. In case you got lost."

"Right." You straighten up and reach your hand back to rub your shoulder blade. "Is that… what this little strap is for?"

"Yes," Dirk says simply. "Why didn't you return to the workshop?"

That sounds like hedging, and you can feel his desperation to change the subject humming under his words. But, god, as soon as you remember, the flood of guilt and fear returns, just as sharp as when you were stuck in the COO. "I was grounded! It was a disaster." You rub your face with both hands. "Shitkicker city slickers, I nearly forgot… See, the COO is run by my old friend Jane, though I doubt she'd consider me such anymore. I-- I messed up, so she took away my right to go into the ocean. I was supposed to get in touch with her on the next cycle. I explained those, right?"

"Yes," Dirk says, nodding solemnly. "You were imprisoned?"

"Erm, no. That's a little extreme. Leaving the COO is a privilege and she… revoked…. mine." You stare down at your hands, curled on your lap. "And I panicked about the-- the whole idea of meeting her and explaining this all to her. That would be bad, and I'd get in trouble. So I… sort of climbed out my window and jumped into the ocean." You sigh. "Absolutely fucking barmy."

"Why's that?"

"It was already going to be trouble. Now, I'm going to be staring down a tornado named Crocker." You sigh. "So, weird and unpleasant as it was, guess I'm glad your chariotfish gobbled me up and took me here."

Dirk lets out a low, rumbling purr and pets your hair. Closing your eyes, you lean into it. That's unfairly soothing.

You are relaxing into his touch when something that definitely isn't Dirk touches your back. It's soft and squishy, and you yelp, scurrying forward practically into Dirk's body as you hurry away from it.

You turn and see the slug thing leaning back from having reached out to you, feathers flicking around.

Dirk slings an arm around you and strokes your hair a little more pointedly. It's kind of impressive, how he can pet you almost sternly. "Calm down, Jake," he tells you, and his words vibrate through amber soma to spread over your body. Your tension unpins and loosens like pulled thread. "They're not going to hurt you. They pretty much _can't._ At most they could mouth at you a bit, but that just means they want attention."

"What… _are_ they?" You take a breath and settle down, wiggling around to look back at the giant slug. "Sorry, it's a little weird you have a fairly giant pet just sort of living in here."

"Not really. Most clutches inherit their ovikopos and keep them. My kin doesn't have the room or patience to keep them, so I do. I don't mind the company."

"Is that their name? Ovikopos?"

"No," Dirk says slowly, deliberately. "That is what they do. As in, the… what we made them for. This one is called--" And maybe it's proximity or maybe it's how deep in the amber fuzziness he has you this time, but the meaning comes across even as the word itself is lost. They are _beloved carrier fast cuddler lazy_. The rush of feeling hits you and you take a moment just to process that.

"Okay," you say eventually. "That name doesn't fit in my head. So from the gist of that, I'll call them Snug." Snug the Snuggle Slug. You have the… strongest desire to go test that proxy-feeling, the way Dirk looks at this big creature and associates them so strongly with having a curl up and kip.

"That is not their name but I guess that'll be fine for now. I'll talk to Roxy about that, see what she can do."

"Do you sleep next to them, then? Are they like a big blobby pillow to sleep on? You know, I don't think I've seen you catching any Zs yet."

Dirk shakes his head. "When I was younger, often enough. Not so much anymore." He hums. "But sometimes."

"Aw," you say, a little delighted at the idea. But your smile fades a little. "Then… if a gentleman was deeply fucking bushed and in need of some rest in this place… you _do_ sleep, right?"

"Yes," Dirk says. "We sleep." His tail flexes, pushing against the floor and lifting his body upward in an arc before it flicks, pushing him upward. "Come on."

You kick off the floor, giving Snug a hesitant pat before following Dirk. He loops around the room, his body illuminating brighter, a singing tone ringing out of him. As he does, all the little firefly fish dim to a pale glow.

Unsure where the mer equivalent of the bed is, you sort of drift around the middle of the room while Dirk dims the lights. Then, he catches you under the arms and lifts you up, towards the ceiling.

The shell thing up there seemed to you like a chandelier or something, but now that the rest of the lights have been banked, you can see its own glow is very faint. Dirk heads straight for it and releases you just a few feet away. He strokes a hand over the anemone tentacle things, and they all bend to his touch easily. "Hm. Let me get situated first. These aren't usually… for two. Hold on."

You have no problem hanging back and watching as Dirk climbs in. The conical opening is big enough for him to work his way in fairly deep, and it's a little funny to watch. He burrows in up to his tail before twisting around, and grasping the edge of the opening. He pulls himself out again, his tail following his path until it vanishes into the curved opening. His shoulders and hips wiggle around as he backs up, further in.

"Are you shoving your tail in that thing?" you ask, swimming closer to watch the whole display.

"Yeah. I've had the same bed conch since I was hatched. Most of the people get larger ones as they grow, but…" He works himself into what seems like a comfortable position. His head rests against the tentacles, and they bend to cup his head and neck and body easily. Satisfied, he looks up at you and reaches out an arm. "Come here."

"What's completely madcap about all this," you murmur as you take his hand and use it to draw yourself into the mouth of the nautilus shell bed thing, "is this isn't even the strangest place I've slept on this planet."

"That was to keep you from wandering off while I was out," Dirk says. "It's a fine place to sleep."

"Sure," you say agreeably. You are too busy dealing with a bunch of anemone bits to argue, and he's not exactly wrong either.

You brace a hand on the soft, curled lip of the shell and cautiously slide your feet into the space next to his tail. It's dark in there, and you move slowly. For once, Dirk doesn't rush you or anything. His hand keeps hold of yours as you coax yourself along, and soon enough your ass is rubbing against all the pillowy soft tentacles.

It's warm, which is nice. They seem to put off some heat, and its a heavy drowsy feeling as they wrap loosely around your hips and ribs. You jerk, sputtering.

"What?"

"Tickles, sorry," you say, and scratch the spot before trying again.

It's weird but nice, probably the first truly warm moment you've had subsoma, which feels almost hedonistic after so long in vague not-cold-not-warm. If the soft stuff kept shifting and groping you all night, you'd probably have some trouble, but once you get tucked into it, the tentacles loop lax around you, and go still. Now, you think you understand the idea; its the same as the bell jar, how it kept you from drifting away or anything.

You turn, your shoulder sliding through the anemone stuff, and look at Dirk. "Not bad at all," you say quietly.

"Glad you like." He strokes your hair again, then lightly rests his hand on your neck. "Hm. This was shifting colors before," he notes quietly.

"What?" Oh, damn, right. Your airator. You didn't even think about it, just adjusted it to an orangey glow. "Seemed a bit gaudy," you whisper. In the dark, and the growing stillness, it seems like a good idea to whisper.

"I see." There's something humming out of him, but it's complex and your sleepy brain doesn't want to pick it apart.

The weight of his hand on your neck is… nice. You hum, hoping somehow it conveys that you like this without you needing to say it. Mellifluous wordless sentiment seems much better to you.

Whether it works or not, Dirk hums back, deep and basso, echoing around your head. "Close your eyes and relax," he says, soft enough to barely stir the soma. So soft, maybe he doesn't say it? You're not sure, maybe it just reaches you through vibration and light and lays the command down in your mind.

You do, and sleep.

 

* * *

 

Drifting off in the loose embrace of a tentacley thing does not prepare you for how wrapped up you are when you wake up.

Sometime during the approximate night, you have been pulled in close, until your head rests against soft felty skin. Dirk's arms are secure around you, and the thick bulk of his tail has wound once through your legs. You are embedded in this hold, secure and warm in a way that makes you want to just go right back to sleep.

But it's hard to ignore the steady movement of the chest under your cheek. You stir, and drag yourself awake so you can look around.

It turns out that mers do sleep, curled up and buried. Dirk's head is nuzzled deep enough in the soft stuff around you that his nudihair nearly blends into the bedding, such as it is. As you very carefully push yourself up, you can see how the soma moves in slow easy waves, through the anemone, through his tendrils, and his crown spokes at rest.

Oddly, even as he sleeps, they still glow gently. Untucking your arm, you reach out and stroke one, following the tensile curve of it as it bobs.

As it bounces back to its natural curve, it brightens. Then all do, and Dirk stirs, his tail flipping around. The movement rolls up his spine as he tips over onto his back and peers up at you with slitted eyes.

"Mornin'," you murmur, and lower yourself back down. "Assuming it's the morning at all, obviously. Hard to tell down here."

Dirk doesn't respond outright. Instead, a low purr strums through the space between you, in time with his fingers along your back. The drowsy look he gives you with heavy eyes is… 'fetching' is redundant and not nearly enough. He has been fetched and carried back and left at your feet like a gift.

It's a stupid thought, and you duck your head as you grin. As you do, he tucks your hair behind your ear. Hello, there. You hope you are not reading this wrong. Alien liaisons are always a little tricky. Sometimes body languages don't share a mother tongue, but you've tried hard to…. diversify.

Or, okay, you just. Wiggle back in and run your fingers over one of the stippled spots that stretch over his sides, and down to where a human belly button would be. You think the texture of his skin is thicker as you get closer to his tail.

You mean to look up and check how he's taking this, but before you can, his whole body flexes and moves, pushing. He moves against you, putting you onto your back, the soft bedding flatted under you.

"Oh," you puff out, and grip his arms.

His lips are parted. You can see the vivid hue of his blue tongue. Fuck, you want to taste it so bad, you have to press your teeth down against your lower lip to not just do it. There is a lot more to take in before you tangle with that taffy-colored confection.

Dirk is very… long. And solid in a way you didn't really expect. The closest you've gotten to him thus far is your koala cling to his huggable back fins. Being cozy and close in a conch bed is an entirely different vantage, and your gaze lolls downward, to where his body presses to yours. He is… almost off-puttingly large. You take a deep breath and feel how you move against him. Oh.

With enormous effort, you force yourself to look back up at his face, his big amber eyes. "Is this… fine?" you ask.

Dirk shakes his head and presses in close to the angle of your neck, that strange mer laughter loud in your ears. He's so close like this and you squirm, unable to keep the jitter out of your gams when you're crushed between him and the tentacles.

He moves with you, holding you flat, and you groan into his hair tendrils. That seems super fine. Extremely fine. Your morning wood against the overwhelming wall of his body must be perfectly copacetic.

The funny thing is that you have gotten off a few times under Dirk's diligent scientific attentions. All under some guise of seathrall experimentation or whatever excuse he gave. But you have yet to take similar advantage of your somatic host. Hell, the first true how-do-you-do between you two was Dirk's intimate explorations of your body.

Now, you've finally gotten yourself tucked good and tidy close to a handsome specimen of mer-hood. And you've forgone clothes for quite some time. There is no barrier between you, and you can enjoy and soak up Dirk's mouth against your neck and collarbone, how his body bends over you, his hips crushed tight. And you can definitely feel something _happening_ down there.

It's impossible to see a damn thing with all of him sort of in the way, so you shut your eyes and focus. Wrangling your senses to any task is tough with lips on the most sensitive skin of your neck, and of bloody course Dirk knows _precisely_ where to apply pressure after all his hard work on you. But gosh damn it, you can feel him rocking against you, and finally you might be able to finagle some reciprocation? Letting him have all the fun hardly seems fair.

You hold his hips and hook one ankle around the thick girth of his tail, anchoring close so you can grind right back against him. Face pinched, you feel…

It's so hard to friggin' tell, you let out a frustrated groan and try to crane your neck right to see.

Dirk stills and pulls back from where he nuzzled into your skin.

Heat floods your face. "Sorry, uh, I…"

He looks away, the lights on his chest and arms dimming. There's a tug, and you realize he's moving away from you.

Rubbish to that shit! You grab on harder and tighten your leg around him. "Hey, no listen. I… erm." This is not easy to explain. And even if it were, you're not the best at explaining besides.

You take a deep breath and think maybe you shouldn't try. Not this time. Instead, you dig your hands into the bedding behind you and pull, sliding downward, deeper into the shell mouth. Further down his body as your leg slips off him. Down as his hands touch your shoulders and a hum of hesitation vibrates from him.

You glance back up at him. You can see him, and the lip of the shell, and the waving tentacles. Nothing really beyond this quiet shadowy spot separate from the world.

Dirk is staring. You stare right back, waiting to see if he's going to… protest or stop you, something.

He's lighting up all over again. You think that's good. So, like a good spelunker, you grab on and lower yourself carefully down.

Your feet keep finding more space as you get deeper into the conch bed. You can see how a small mer would find this cozy. If your heart wasn't stampeding off, you'd admire it more. But now you follow the spots that frame Dirk's torso and abdomen like guiding lights on an airstrip. _Right this way._

Settling in low, you get your back flat against the curved wall, your legs spread to share the space with Dirk's long tail, knees bent. There's a sweet fan of fin around his hips, accentuating the point where his tail meets his body. And in the direct center, there is a split, a line of an… alluring bright blue. Like his tongue.

Your flush is spreading down your chest. That pale vivid color is starting to get you in a Pavlovian way; you just feel something in you stand at attention at the sight. Woof.

You are going to lose your nerve if you look up. Trusting Dirk will stop you if he wants, you reach out and press both of your palms against his skin, framing the slowly parting slit. When you touch him, he shudders, his tail giving another flex, too constrained by the narrow space to go anywhere, but showing off the sheer muscle mass of him for you to feast your peepers on. God. Now this, this is your favorite type of adventure, you think with a giddy grin.

Rubbing your thumbs in slow circles makes Dirk move more, a wave of motion. You wait patiently as he just opens up for you with nothing more than your eyes coaxing him along. The lash of pale blue widens by half-inches, and slowly something works out: a thin tendril, about as wide around as your finger, folding back over his outer skin.

You let out a hard breath; the soma moves, and fans over his slit. It parts more, and more tendrils start to cautiously slip out. They twist around themselves almost protectively, bunching up, then stretching slowly, with more joining them.

Keeping track of them all is difficult, they all blend together in a way that seems anxious to you, even though you have no reason to assume so. As each one slips free from the slit, they curl up protectively. Not knowing if that's normal or whatever, you try to touch one with your thumb.

It's faintly warm as it winds around your knuckle, and thick with peach fuzz. Very slowly, you pull, drawing one tendril out from the slit. It lets you with little resistance, until you have almost a foot of pale blue mer sex tendril drawn taut.

With one coaxed out, more follow. It's not long before you are faced with a bunch of curiously reaching thin wiggling bits. Above them, you can see Dirk's chest moving as he breathes, steady but deep, hard.

He sure is tense. Best to do something about that.

You reach out and put your hand in the grasp of all the tendrils. They all grab onto you, twining and winding and pulling tight and insinuating everywhere. Moving your fingers at all rubs against several of them, and they cling tighter.

Against your own better judgement, you glance up to check on Dirk. There is nothing to see; his head is tilted all the way back, and you can only see the point of his chin and his gills. And the long line of his neck, that's very affecting. Encouraging.

Now, you're perfectly okay with taking the manual approach to this. Digging both your hands into the soft needy tendrils and figuring out how to get them off sounds like a bang-up good time to you. But you've done this rodeo with aliens before. There's a few tricks to keep aforefront.

For instance: alternians. They had sharp teeth. With that in mind, and given the vulnerability of their soft bulges and all, they were not a species prone to using their mouths on such sensitive anatomy. In your past with trolls, there was no pattern you could suss out between the ones that were adamantly against having anything to do with human mouths, and the others who caught onto the idea and shoved their colorful junk in your mouth with great relish.

Now, mers are different. You have seen Dirk up close. You have explored that mouth of his. And you know that sharp teeth are not a cultural baggage for him.

That close in mind, you pull, pull insistently and keep up the pressure until he submits to moving closer to you. When he's within reach, you draw your hand against your mouth and drag your tongue over one tendril wrapped around your wrist.

Your hand becomes a lot less occupied as the tendrils abandon it in favor of your face. You really did pull Dirk in rather close, and now you have to deal with a dozen soft but eager grasping things trying to get close to you. Shutting your eyes against their ribald demands, you do your best to help them out. Give them a place to go. It'd be terribly unkind to strike the amorous hornets' nest and then not do your part.

Opening your mouth allows a few to slip inside. They lightly run over your teeth, in the tender space between your teeth and lips, and against your tongue. Given how Dirk tends to kiss, you are not at all shocked when two tendrils lasso your tongue, holding on like riding a mechanical bull as you obligingly move it around. Even as you lave the ones you can with attention, more pull at your cheeks. There is a conquest going on, and you've pretty much felled yourself.

You try to take it with grace, but it's a little overwhelming. All you can manage is sucking at the tendrils in your mouth, but that seems to do well enough; they all shake and squirm more excitedly, pushing in further. Over you, Dirk lets out a croon.

When you roll your eyes up to try to see-- it's much harder now with so many tendrils trying to grab you-- Dirk has his face buried in the anemone stuff, with both his hands grasping the outer rim of his bed in a desperate grip.

Then, more tendrils grab you. You feel them slide into your hair and twist, grabbing hold. A few manage to circle your neck, tickling under your jaw. You have to squeeze your eyes shut again as they explore the shape of your face, dancing over your brow and pressing the apples of your cheeks. They seem to be absolutely _everywhere_ ; all you can do is hold onto Dirk's hips, feeling how close he's gotten to you, and hang on, groaning and dragging your heels against the shell.

For a second, you felt like you had this, that it was in control. Now, there are tendrils wrapping around your ears and keeping you in place, the tips flirting with the curve and tugging at your lobe while the ones in your mouth slide in and out with random thrusts.

Dirk's hips are rocking against your face. The tendrils in your mouth are flirting with your gag reflex while just barely skirting the part of your palette that would set you off. You've forgotten to suck, which is only going to prolong things, so you gather yourself and try again. It's difficult with them slipping in and out of your mouth willy-nilly, carelessly breaking the seal of your lips to stroke your chin or run over your eyelashes or kind of squeeze your nose in a way you can't help but find cute. They're all so energetic, even when you think this isn't on the list of your top ten blowjobs/eat outs.

But the ones in your hair pull fairly hard, and you wince, pulled back to diligent work. Wresting your tongue free of its captors, you try to lick desperately at what you can. A few tendrils ride along the curl of your tongue, pushing it flat and rubbing fast and hard. You can barely do anything, just grunt and let them. Dirk's hips push all the way in against your face and hold there for a few seconds as the tendrils do the same, almost getting in your throat. You swallow around the weird intruding feeling and feel them shudder.

Then Dirk's hips ease back, and the tendrils that were riding your tongue slip away, tugging out from your lips. They pet over your face, loose and languid, moving without purpose.

Then more take their place, moving with the same urgency as before, and you think you understand how this works. That's encouraging, and you try again to close your lips and suck. A few seem too sensitive to like that and instead leave your mouth to rub off against your face and pull on your hair and ears. But others go tense under the pressure, shuddering, then slipping free again.

Okay, this is doable. Perhaps you threw yourself into the proverbial deep end, but now you have a better view of the landscape. With a sharp push, you ease Dirk off your face for a moment, long enough for you to suck in a deep breath. Then, you let him go again.

He settles right back in, rubbing in endless little circles against you while you try to focus on the tendrils you can. Most like your mouth, but not all of them. Those, you grab and curl around your fingers, stroking and squeezing until they come for you too and melt into your grasp.

There are even more than you realized. It's impossible to keep track, given how they don't just pop off and are done. They stay and pet your face, tug your hair, and get way too friendly with your ears, muffling your hearing as they fiendishly poke in while you're too busy to stop them, the beguiling little sea devils.

Eventually, you tuck your hand back into the squirming mass, and the sated little guys seem happy to loop around your fingers again, pulsing with little warm squeezes but otherwise staying put. That helps immensely, and you use your other hand to gather up the last stranglers and guide them into your mouth to lap at them with heavy strokes of your tongue.

As you work them over, you feel Dirk touch your hair, petting you gently. It makes you smile like a loon, head bent, your forehead pressed to his skin. His fingers dig in and drag against your scalp. It's perfectly lovely accompaniment as you finish him off and finally let the last tendril spill out from your lips to wrap drowsily around your hands.

One by one, they slide off you, and wind up around themselves. Neatly, they tuck back into his slit, until you are just laying there, watching them go and slip away.

When the last return to their safe place inside Dirk, his slit drags itself shut, heavy like a wooden door pulling closed. You pet the surrounding skin until there is nothing but a narrow line of pale blue remaining.

Leaning in, you press a kiss against the line. His tail shudders, and you get pulled up, out of your dark little hidden spot in the shell. The anemone bedding drags against your back as Dirk hauls you up. You blink at the light; his glowing amber spots and bulbs are much brighter up here.

You rub your bruised, sore mouth with the back of your hand before asking, "That all right?"

Dirk closes his eyes and presses against your shoulder, humming avidly. Grinning, you nuzzle right back against him.

Now, you could do with a nap. Perfect start to a day.

 

* * *

 

After the appropriate amount of post-coital lazing around in bed, it's time for breakfast and then saddling up for a trip.

The saddling you did not expect, but while you finish eating and take a few minutes to drink some soma through your straw, Dirk tends to Snug. The ovikopos slug companion lifts their head to allow Dirk to settle a harness around their neck, setting the padded struts against the slug's nebulous shoulders. When its strapped in place, Dirk strokes Snug's face, petting their feathers affectionately.

"You ride them? Even though you can swim?" you ask between sips, approaching slowly with lazy kicks.

"That was their original purpose," Dirk says. "Not all of the people can swim fast, so having something to help them get around is vital for everyday life." He cups the slug's head, shaking it gently. "Also they're just important. Your ovikopos is the first thing that's truly yours when you hatch. Anyway." He finally lets Snug go and loops around them. "I could carry you myself, but Dave doesn't see them very often, so I try to bring them by every once in a while. Come here."

You swim closer, and Dirk catches you swiftly, pulls you in and positions you. Your body stretches out over Snug's back, and Dirk settles your hands on the harness. He settles over you, and finds his handhold just above yours. "Hold on."

"Right, okay," you mutter. It's not difficult; your grip is like iron as Snug starts to move. The ribbons along their sides stretch and fan, lengthening somehow, and start moving in quick waves. The movement picks up, and they lurch forward, towards the hole in the center of the house.

Dirk pushes your head gently down, and you both duck to fit as Snug tips out and falls from Dirk's home into the open soma below. You all sink for a moment before Snug points their head and starts to swim.

For a slug, they are a zippy dude, forcing you to hold fast to the harness as they soar along, pulling you with. Dirk keeps one hand on the till, so to speak, but wraps his other around your chest, which is comforting. With some effort, you stop worrying about falling off the speed demon and watch as Isaura flies by. There are other mers riding their own ovikopos. Ovikopi? Ovikopods, you think? And each one is bright and colorful, like a handful of glowsticks thrown into a drain, swirling around the central tower.

Your own trajectory is a sweet curve down and in a gradual counterclock, around that same tower. The central column is huge as you drift closer to it.

The big mushroom fan protrusions sweep under Snug as they swim along. They skip right over the top of three of the them, each smaller than the last.

On the last, Snug lands with a somewhat viscous impact. You slump into their back, with Dirk against yours, before you all settle and Snug starts to slug his way around the roof of this outcropping.

You don't know why you're surprised when they glide over the edge and start crawling along the underside instead. Still, you yelp and tug yourself tighter against the harness.

"What?" Dirk asks, almost directly into your ear.

"Oh, hell, nothing, just…" You try to relax, sighing. "Keep thinking I'm going to fall."

"Fall," Dirk echoes, sounding perplexed.

"Well, on other planets that aren't totally ocean, falling is sort of a big deal and can get you killed sometimes." Kind of hard to explain to a creature that doesn't have that trouble. "Where are we going?"

"Not much further. Hang on." He cinches you up, closer to his chest, as Snug finds an entrance and just bodily drags themselves in. It's a janky, shuddering ride inside, so completely not-smooth compared to the rest of the fast, graceful journey, you start giggling as the ovikopos stands upright, coming to a stop.

"What?" Dirk asks again, sounding a little more annoyed.

"Nothing, nothing at all," you tell him, tipping your head back to look up at him and smile. "This it?"

"Yeah." He lets go of the harness and easily swims up and away, into the corridor you're now in. It's a wide rounded hallway, with little colored windows that look outward, over the city. It winds along the outer wall of the strange outcropped building, with ports along the inner wall. You try to peer into one, but somehow the view is obscured, cloudy in a way you're not used to seeing from soma and its weird preternatural clarity.

Snug trundles forward, following Dirk down the hallway, getting another yelp out of you. Ahead of you, Dirk laughs quietly. "They know where to go."

"Great. Excellent," you mutter and try to find a comfortable position. If you sort of sit on Snug's back with your legs hooked around their big slug neck, that feels secure enough. Okay.

Dirk swimming so slowly to let you and Snug keep up with him is amusing enough to soothe the strange indignity of your steed and its tremulous forward slides. It's not the worst experience ever, especially as Snug's feather feelers start to tip backward towards you instead of in front of them. Soft peacock fringe dances over your face and shoulders and chest as you do your best to hold still. You have to imagine you are a new sort of creature to Snug, so it makes sense they're curious.

One fluttery trailing thing catches you right under the ear and you squirm, puffing out a laugh. "'Cuse me, fellow, stop that!"

Oddly, they seem to understand and pull away again. You pat them on the back of their squashy head in thanks.

Eventually, your steed veers off course, turning in towards one of the ports. Looking up, you can see Dirk head through it before you, and Snug follows along. The shrouded soma seems perfectly permeable, and you all pass through it with only a little shiver of energy passing over you.

Out of the corridor, you enter another big room. Mers don't seem to do anything in half-measure, and this place doesn't break the pattern. The ceiling is high and curved, following the mushroom shape of the building, and the floor drops into a steep slope. Before you can even register that, Snug slides down into the latter, their head bending to munch on the grassy shit growing there.

It's a relief when they finally come to a stop. You look around some more.

The room is fucking full of bubbles. There are kelp-looking taut struts lining the entire room, each one a different color, and each one covered in bubbles like crystals overgrown on a rock candy stick. And above you, there are even more bubbles, so many they seem to shift and move like a great soapy beast lurking above with even the slightest movement of soma. On the ground, there are tall stalks of black sugar cane-y plants, along with floating flower troughs decked out and overflowing with more colorful leafy flora every color of the rainbow and more besides.

Dirk floats in the nebulous safe space between the bubblemass on the ceiling and the deep floor. "Hey, are you even here?" he asks.

Not you. Definitely not you. Further in the room is another shroud of soma you can't really see through, but there is something moving on the other side. It goes still at Dirk's call and calls something back in a higher trill, a hum like molasses as it runs over your ears.

The other person crosses the barrier. Another mer, skin the color of volcanic ash, scattered with slapdash spots of yellow and red that have more in common with freckles than anything else, and tidy narrow fins that curve close to their shoulders and arms, all the way down one side of their tail in a structured ridge. They are small, and narrow in a way that makes weird sense to you given what Dirk told you.

Small, and ornate in a really understated way. Maybe not as ornate as Dirk, but you are starting to understand that is not very hard, given how pretty Dirk is. Instead, the mer swims out, right up to Dirk. There are glowing maroon-red spots in their hair, worked into the layered betta fins, and both the mers glow at each other for a moment, humming and speaking in words you don't understand, the meaning not penetrating as they jumble together.

It's actually kind of a lot? You shut your eyes tightly and try not to pay too much attention.

So you entirely miss it when the other mer swims right up to you until they disturb the soma around you. You lean back instinctively and look up at them, this small grey and glittery red fellow coming in for a good look.

"Jake," Dirk calls. "This is my kin, Dave. He's harmless, but really nosy."

"Oh. Hello?" you venture, looking at Dave, unsure how this will work.

Dave hums at you, and you feel it floating just under the surface of what you can parse, the greeting, bright and chippy, like a bird. He lifts both hands, waggling his fingers. You cautiously wave back, and Dave grins.

More mer conversation starts happening, the noises tugging at your brain in vaguely unpleasant ways. Again you withdraw, focusing on petting Snug's feelers some more.

When you glance up, when the conversation has faded a bit, Dirk has his hands on Dave's neck, thumbs pressing up against the smaller mers' chin. Their eyes are locked and unblinking in a kind of unsettling way. The amber illumination in the room grows and grows until the pinpricks of red just seem to be subsumed and covered, just making for a richer orange color.

Then, Dirk lets go, and Dave shakes all over, fins puffing up and arms flicking like a shiver let loose. "Ugh, hate that," Dave says, and you jolt because _what the hell?_

"Yeah, well, you insisted," Dirk chides him lightly.

"I know but the feeling of you sticking your thrall directly into my brain is about as pleasant as a spear through the tail, but whatever, now he'll speak mer?" Dave spins neatly around to look at you.

"Uh," you say, gawking.

"Dirk, you fucked it up, it didn't work," Dave says.

Dirk rolls his eyes and tugs a cheery red fin at Dave's elbow. "Can you be nice?"

"I'm being nice as cuddlepodes, your pet's speaking in alien tongues!" With a sharp left-right flick, Dave gets back in your face and speaks in slow, spaced speech: "Hello in there, invader creature, what is going on?"

You lean back as far as you can without tumbling off the ovikopos. "What's a cuddlepode?"

"Oh, what, Dirk hasn't shown you any? They're great. Roxy has like twenty of them, you should go visit Roxy." Dave reaches out and you do your best to hold still as they touch one finger to your shoulder. "Huh." They flip around, and poke your back, right over the glowy stripe there. "Hm."

"You can tell him to leave you alone if you want," Dirk tells you.

"That'd make this a really fucking pointless trip if I can't look at the invader creature," Dave says almost sweetly. "It's really weird looking."

"Well, thanks," you tell them tartly before you can stop yourself. Dave laughs loudly.

"Hey, it has a personality. Cool."

"He, I'm a he, not an it," you tell him. Behind Dave, you can see Dirk cover his mouth with a hand. Is he smiling? You hope so. "My name is Jake, and on my planet we tend to introduce ourselves to new people."

"Haha, amazing. Okay." Dave lights up red all over. It's not nearly as impressive as when Dirk does it; this mer seems to not have the same amount of glow points. "I'm Dave, rebubbler for Isaura and I got all the best bubbles on the current, it's great. Dirk's my kin, and you are still sitting on our ovikopos, do you have to do that?"

"He can sit on--" _jumbled beloved emotional name_ "--if he wants, they don't care," Dirk says.

Dave hums, loud and sort of annoying. You frown and finally unseat yourself, pushing up off the slug and into the soma above. Immediately, Dave circles around you, staring at your legs. "Huh, okay, well if I was stuck with some busted movement like you, maybe I would wanna ride 'em all day too."

"I'm really sorry about him," Dirk says to you, but the subvocal hum is sweet and desperately fond.

"I think I'll survive," you say, and paddle over to Dirk. "There are a lot of those damn things in here, aren't there?"

"Does Roxy know you're towing a research specimen around?" Dave asks loudly, swimming above you both, still staring a little too keenly at you.

"I-- Dave," Dirk says, aiming a sour look at the mer floating above you. "Roxy is aware, yes. She informed me when one of the sentry fish brought him in." Shaking his head, he looks at you. "Yeah, there's a ton. We have a few places like this where bubbles are actively duplicated based on who needs them. There's also more leisurely ones in market or kept in office for the people to use, provided they make a copy."

As you examine the organization of the room, Dirk extends his hand to you. Never one to pass up a chance like this, you take his hand, letting him just hold you in a gentle grip.

"Speaking of, what do you want? Were you going to actually pick up your bubbles instead of making me ferry them over to you?" Dave asks, coming in very close again. He doesn't seem much one for personal space. For the moment, you're deciding you find it endearing; he seems to be Dirk's brother by your estimation, and it seems annoying younger brothers are another universal constant.

"Yeah, I'm going to take them. But also I…" Dirk grimaces. "Can you do me a favor?"

Dave drifts back, mouth open in a shocked little 'o'. You are pretty sure he's just being dramatic. "That depends. Like, in the capacity of a favor for work, or...?"

"No, a favor for me," Dirk says. "Can you… make a simple bubble? Something with a single concept or idea."

Dave tips his head to look at you, then back to Dirk. "Like a hatchling bubble?"

"Kind of. But with something more advanced than basic addition or whatever."

Again, Dave's hair moves in a shifting plumage of red as he stares at you. "I mean, yeah, of course, that's basic bubble patter. Why me?"

Dirk's fins expand and fluff out as he makes an annoyed sound. "Because I'm bad at it, alright?"

"Heh. Okay." With a grin, Dave swims away from you both. "Can I just bubble you saying that to keep it forever?"

"Pretty sure I couldn't stop you," Dirk grumbles. You squeeze his hand, drawing his attention to you and to your interlocked fingers. He blinks down at them, as if he's forgotten he was the one to reach out. You give him a small smile; he lights up in a ripple of brighter amber, spreading out from his chest to encompass his body. It's very pretty.

As arresting as your mer host is, Dave is doing something more interesting. You watch as he snaps off a piece of charcoal black cane stalk and breaks it into little pieces. The fragments are stashed away into a wide bowl he holds in the crook of his elbow. With light fingers, he plucks out some leaves from the plants in the floating troughs and tosses those in as well.

Twisting up, he puts the bowl in the loop of his tail, then shoves both his hands into the plantstuff inside. He grinds his knuckles, kneading the resulting mush, and mixes everything together.

You recognize the glittery powder from Dirk's workshop. Dave rubs it over his lips, then taps his fingers against the rim of the bowl. With a title of his hips, he spins slowly through the soma, and stares at you with a strange blank expression.

His eyes flick to your hand in Dirk's. Then away again, so quick you might've imagined it.

Eventually, he starts to hum and blow, a bubble inflating at his lips. The process doesn't take long, maybe because it's a simple bubble. In just two minutes or so, Dave plucks the bubble away from his mouth with his fingertips, then fairly wings it across the room.

It doesn't move very fast. You have time to watch it approach, and to give Dirk a questioning look.

He just gives you a little nod. So. When its in range, you extend one finger and pop it,

and

_it sounds like a cello underwater, but wider, deeper, something that echoes with every strum of the strings, like a concert solo in a valley, bouncing off the walls or maybe bouncing off the inside of your skull, you have no way to know, but it strums and strums in a pulsing wave, eight notes rising and falling, long and aching like a bruise, like a lullabye that pushes down on your mind until you feel something in you unravel and calm_

and then you blink, and it's over. You glance around. Both the mers are looking at you.

"How did that feel?" Dirk asks softly.

"Fine. Good. Weird, but… good." You meet Dave's eyes. "Uh, thank you."

"My absolute pleasure. Welcome to Isaura. Also, Dirk owes me a favor now, so." He shoves the bowl of glittery stuff onto a shelf and swims away. "Nice to meet you and all that. If you ever wiggle free from his net, you can come drift with me. I'll show you some hatchling bubbs."

"My research," Dirk calls after him as he hurries back towards the obscured veil of soma.

"Not done!"

"Dave," he sighs.

"I'm like half done! Hey, if you think about it, right now I could be blowing more up if you weren't here."

"Or you could be popping more music bubbles and chewing sweetweed in your room." But he turns away, and tows you over to Snug. You take the hint and settle back onto their back, holding onto the harness. "You know how I owe you a favor now?"

"Yeah, I'll drop them off later!" Dave waves both hands, and vanishes with a thrown sing-song farewell.

Then, it's apparently time to go. Snug gets a firm pat from Dirk, his crown lights bright. When they aren't aimed directly into your brain, you can feel how the soma goes wibbly, and the way Snug straightens up and stops chewing their oceanic cud. They lurch into motion, and follow Dirk out of the room.

For a while, you slug-slide your way along the corridor, back the way you came. Dirk keeps one hand on the top of the harness, touch light, his eyes ahead. Not currently looking at you.

That was… strange. It had occurred to you that other mers existed, that a whole society lived on Alcyone. But meeting Dirk's family, someone he so transparently adored, left you with knots in your stomach. Dave verbally prodded you more than a few times, and seems the type to just be an ornery menace to everyone, but… that's okay, isn't it? You hope it's okay. He even invited you to visit. That had to be mean he liked you, surely.

There's a swooping turbulence in your gut, as if you were mid-flight with shitty inertial dampeners. On a rocky shuttle ride, you always reach out for the patented Oh Shit handle to steady yourself, make yourself feel better.

Now, you reach out and fold your hand around the harness, right next to Dirk's directing grip.

He looks down at you, and hums, inquiring, worried, warm.

You hum right back. Is the tone of your voice blank and boring to him? Either way, he says nothing, and strokes your hair for a moment, dragging from your hairline all the way back to the nape of your neck, over and again.

Then, Snug leans over the hole in the floor, and Dirk swings up and behind you. "Hold on," he murmurs in your ear.

You nod, and hang tight as Snug falls, and drags you along, out into the city again.

 

* * *

 

The three of you return to Dirk's houseshell as it floats to a new position around the tower.

You are torn between being relieved to be back here and able to sit up for a while, and a faint disappointment. The city seems to be huge, and you've seen only a very small part of it. It seems a shame to hermit up now before you get a decent look-see at what's on offer.

Dirk packs away Snug's harness and guides them over to chew on some of the edibles growing out of the floor. You try to watch him (he's cute with his slug pal, it's really precious to see them together) while also sitting on the edge of the hole, peering down as the house drifts, giving you glimpses of new angles of Isaura below. You're so high up, you can't really see anything distinctly; even with somatic clarity, things get blurry at long distances.

Kicking your feet, you sigh, and pluck some seagrass out of the floor. With a few stalks, you start braiding them together. It's a little like being back home, stringing the sharp, long grass out on the beach into loops while watching the tide come in.

That place seems very far from here. The phantom sensation of it tracing over you makes you feel a little better.

Dirk appears, inverted, looking down on you. His lips move, but the sound chafes, is all wrong. You frown at him and wave a finger at your ear.

He frowns right back, and lights up at you. Without hesitation you open your eyes up for it, like inviting a shiny gleaming honey-colored stranger into your home. The warm molten drippy feeling is old-hand by now, and after a long moment you close your eyes again. All topped up.

"What were you flapping your gums about?" you ask.

"Asking if you needed food. And what are you looking at?" He pulls himself down, laying on his side across from you, his tail almost circling the entire hole as he settles in. Leaning in, he peers down at the plummet below.

"I think I'm okay. And just… lookin'." You shrug, dragging your fingers around the edge of the hole. "How far are we from the COO?"

"The COO," Dirk repeats slowly, like tasting the syllables. "The invader base, that is almost a day's swim from here. Faster with an ovikopos or something else to carry you."

"That's not very far," you mutter, hunching in on yourself a bit.

"A day's swim for me. Not for a human." Dirk purrs, discordant and pulling at you. "Is that bothering you or…?"

"I don't…" You lean your face into your hand and rub your eye. "It's complicated." For something to do, something to fill the quiet contemplative space between you and Dirk, you pull your straw loose and shove it in your mouth for a drink.

"What does that thing do?" Dirk leans in, across the gap, and bends to try and stare along the straw. His nose scrunches up as he squints. It's an adorably relatable look, and you stop to snicker at him.

"It's a filter. Humans can't get the icky microbes and shit out of the ocean, so it's not safe to drink straight up. This lets me have a nip."

"Oh, well, we can fix that. You should've said," Dirk says, and lifts his hand. "Let me."

You first pull the straw further from him. "Without this, I will die of dehydration out here, Dirk. Don't break it."

When you offer it, he snatches it up with an eyeroll, and swims off to one of his shelves, balanced between the struts in the room. "I managed not to break your round automated companion, I think I can handle a filter."

"You'd better hope so, buddy-o." You lean back on your hands and watch him as he takes out a thing polished scalpel tool and finds a seam in the straw, splitting it open. "What d'you mean, we can fix that?"

"Hang on, I have to figure out how it works first. Though, I should just wait for Roxy. She's the expert."

"Wait for-- the big octopus mer? She's… big, so she's…"

"Yeah, she's big," Dirk confirms with a quirk of his lips. "When we were young, she was nearly my size. Hasn't been that ways in a long damn time." He separates a piece from the straw, a thin film. "Hm."

"Is she… you said you'd wait for her, so is she…"

Something brushes against your leg, and you let out a shriek that would wake the dead. Kicking your feet, you hit something soft that then grabs you, and you can't move against it. Shooting a frantic look down there, you can see black, pitch fucking black swallowing your legs, and you yell again, trying to drag yourself back.

Dirk is by your side in a flash, a current of soma shoving against you from his movement. His spokes are lifted, like cobras about to strike.

And just as swiftly, he dials off, going from anger to annoyance in the span of a blink. He lets off a low rumble and _slaps_ down at the thing holding you.

It lets go and you scramble away, over to Snug. They seem only slightly disturbed by the commotion, but let you curl up at their feet.

Dirk says something, but it's not in human, but clipped mer, humming with irritation. He backs off from the hole, and the devil-spoke octopus mer pulls herself into the houseshell. Her hands press against the floor, and one tentacle at a time flops up and in as she shimmies her hips, working through the space.

She beams at Dirk.

To your silent, rabbit-hearted delight, he crosses his arms and glares back at her.

The mer, Roxy, settles like a starfish spread over the floor, the splay of her limbs almost completely obscuring the entryway. She looks Dirk over, then crosses her arms too, making a face at him. When he doesn't break, she sighs loudly and warbles something, light and airy. Her tentacles ripple and flutter as she turns to you.

She smiles and waves at you.

You frown back at her. Snug is flush to your back. Kind of more than flush; they're very squishy, and their body is sort of spilling over you like a very strange embrace. It's a weird feeling, but you hold in your shudder, not wanting her to see.

With a trill, she spins back to Dirk, knuckling her hips. He seems to listen to her go on for a moment, and his only reply is a growing hum, deep and throbbing from his throat and chest.

Roxy's expression falls, disappearing like a punctured balloon. Shoulders slumped, her many legs shift and move, until one lifts.

Clenched between her suckers is a… well, a bubble, but not a _bubble_. It's a sphere of glimmering somatic stuff, but unlike the idea and note bubbles, this one seems firmer, almost like glass or very, very clear plastic. Inside, two small creatures tumble around, so translucent you can barely make them out but for their spiraling movement.

Dirk takes the-- capsule, you decide. He takes the capsule between both his hands and lifts it up, shining his light on it and peering inside. Now that you think about it, that might be the first time you've seen him use his lights as _light_.

The creatures seem to be jellyfish. They're odd, though, so colorless and pale they're nearly invisible. Each has a flat, wide headcap and only a few glossy tendrils spread out like flower petals. Or, there are only three or four, so maybe like a palm frond really.

Roxy taps a finger against the capsule and starts speaking, fast and lilting and flowing in like a flood. Dirk responds, his own lower chord bouncing off her like a silver ball about to break out of a pinball machine.

You grimace and rub your head. "Not to interrupt, but can you please do the thing?"

Dirk stills, and his mer speech trails off like a music album about to change tracks. "What?"

You wave a hand before going back to rubbing your forehead. "I don't know what appellation you want to staple to the whole process, but that thing you did with Dave? You made it so he spoke… human…." You blink, and furrow your brow. "Or, am I speaking mer? How does this work?"

"Neither, but closer to the latter," Dirk says, slowly, glancing between you and Roxy. She gives him a voluminous Look, and he presses his lips together hard.

He holds up a finger to her, hands her the capsule, then darts over to where you're still sitting with Snug. Most of your shoulders have been conquered by the squishy ovikopos, but now you're dedicated to this, to sitting here like its not happening. Like a game between you and them.

It's not the worst feeling, anyway. Again, very hug-like.

"Sorry," Dirk says, hovering in the soma just a little above you. Behind him, you can see Roxy extend a tentacle to flick the tip of his tail. And you also see his tail whip up towards her face, and how she nearly falls over, trilling in alarm. "What did you want?"

You sigh. "Listening to you talk to any other mer is like running my grey matter through a sander. Can you… do the thing so I understand again?"

Dirk shakes his head and tucks some of your hair behind your ear. "I can't. She's upstream of me."

Upstream. Presumably the opposite of downstream? "What's that mean, anyway? The stream thing."

"It…" Dirk hums to himself for a second. "Many creatures across the world have seathralls. All of them fit into the hierarchy somewhere, based on how easily they fall under seathrall at the bottom, and at the top based on how resonant or powerful their seathrall is. Dave happens to be downstream of me, my seathrall is more captivating than his and I can sway him. Roxy is _upstream_ of me, just a step down from the Queenarch really, so I can't impart knowledge to her."

"Oh," you say quietly. He does shine that light around all over the damn place, doesn't he.

"Technically, she could… compel the knowledge out of me, but that's…" Dirk grimaces and shakes his head. "It's really fucking unpleasant. Besides, we have a better way."

"Well, I sure hope so," you grouse. "I feel like if you threw me into the thick of it with a bunch of mers, my brain would leak out."

"I know. Roxy's been working on that. Let me finish getting the details from her, alright?"

"Fine." You pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around them. It pulls you forward a bit, and Snug immediately slumps over you more to fill the space. It must look silly, because Dirk glances up at Snug, and his lips twitch. "Try to do it quietly, would you?"

Dirk gives you a small smile and gives Snug a pat, then turns and swims back to Roxy. She tosses the capsule back at him and immediately goes back to blathering on.

Or, honestly, on its own, it would be a fine enough noise. Almost like a song. But the way it digs into your head, you can't block it out, and when Dirk joins in, it's like a bunch of cicadas in there.

You close your eyes most of the way, as if that might help. Through your narrowed lids, you watch Roxy gesture excitedly and tap the capsule a few times. Dirk nods along, humming assent. Turning it over, he somehow opens the thing. Or breaks the surface tension, it seems, because the capsule itself completely dissolves into the soma, leaving behind the two slowly spinning jellyfish.

Roxy grabs one by its head. The transparent shape of it fills at her touch, like icy pink pigment injected into the jellyfish. It lights up until she lets it go, then fades back to nigh-invisible blankness.

Dirk scoops one into his palm, then nudges the other into his grip. Both of them illuminate amber as he tucks them to his chest, then swims back over to you.

"Hullo," you say.

"Hey." He lowers himself down onto the grassy floor with you, his tail casually laying along your side. "Roxy's been engineering something based on that translator box you brought me. Really, that thing was… kind of incredible, especially compared to the rest of your devices."

"Thanks, we try." You're not going to mention how much the Babeltech was spearheaded by Alternians; besides, you barely know the details, you could be wrong anyway. "Is… that what she came up with?" You point to the little jellyfish.

"Yeah," Dirk exhales, looking down at the little jellies in his hands. Loosening his grip, he lets them go, to float idly in the soma. "If I did my notes right and Roxy's as clever as she claims to be--"

Behind him, Roxy blows out a loud croon, waving an arm indignantly.

Dirk smiles faintly, just for you to see. "Then this should fix the problem altogether."

"Okay," you say. "What do I do? How do I use them?"

In answer to your question, Dirk leans in closer to you and touches your chin. You tip up for him, and his spokes come together in front of his face, the light-- the seathrall? you think?-- burns so brightly it still doesn't hurt you like you keep expecting, but you can't see him beyond it.

You do feel it in your head again. That's always a queer sensation, and you curl both your hands into the seagrass in effort to sit obediently still and wait for whatever he's doing this time, calling and pulling at the strange alien thing woven into the undercarriage of your mind. _Resonance_ , you think at a distance, and let your head loll into his hand.

It might take seconds. It could take an hour. You don't know, and the ability to care is gently pulled from your grasp. You give it up, and feel your fingers loosen their grip on the grass. The space between your head and your hands down there feels like a football pitch, soft and stretched out.

Dirk keeps one hand on your chin and catches one of the jellies. He flips it, lets its strange pale tendrils fill with rich amber. It's more in your periphery than anything, and your eyes are too languidly locked on the seathrall to bother following the activated glowing creature as it's moved out of your sight.

Something soft brushes your ear, ticklish and gossamer. The urge to shiver is strong, but your body is too heavy and full of amber weight for it to break loose. Sitting still, you distantly feel a cool caress running over your ear, smushing against the skin just in front and under it. The ticklish thing fans out, moves like cloth in water, weird enough it nearly detaches you from the seathrall.

But not quite. You are quiet and unmoving as one of the fanned tendrils finds a place to go and pushes in. It curls up, and sinks into your ear.

You blink slowly, your mouth opening slowly at the fullness you've never felt before. That alone is a completely new and novel experience.

Then the other two tendrils find the same canal, and they slip into your ear, inside your head, fullness growing to-- to what feels like capacity. You gasp, and twitch all over, unsure what-- what to do, what you're feeling.

Before it becomes too much, the tingling feeling spreads out, like a local's been spilled into the canal. It's unpleasant for a second, too fucking weird for you to even comprehend.

Then it numbs, and you don't… feel it anymore. Instead, you feel Dirk's fingers against the side of your head. His palm is pressed against the jellyfish's cap, and the cap has covered your ear entirely.

Very carefully, Dirk turns your head, examining his handiwork. You feel him press on the jellycap, feel distant pressure in your head, but nothing else. Things are muffled and strange, but you breathe in deep and let out a sigh.

Dirk murmurs something. It's hard to hear. But he turns your face back to him, to the amber light, and catches the other jellyfish in his free hand.

It moves out of your sight, this time on your other side.

You breathe deep and steady, and feel your other ear explored, mapped, and filled with the same unfurling numbing thing, until the jellycap is fitted over your ear.

And you're done. You sat still through it all, and that was excellent, especially given how bizarre all that was just now. What an excellent job you did.

You blink once, then again, and Dirk's face resolves from behind the seathrall as it lifts away.

Both of his hands take hold of your face, and his thumbs run over your ears. Or, now, over the soft, yielding caps that cover your ears completely. Just like that, the muffled feeling fades, like a white noise machine being turned off. Clarity takes its place, and you shake your head as it hits you. "What? What the sweltering hell was that?"

"Oh, now who's just as clever as she claims to be?" Roxy says loudly.

Dirk leans in and pecks your forehead with a fast kiss, then moves away, looking over his shoulder at Roxy. "Okay, Roxy. They're pretty impressive."

"I'm pretty impressive," she says, grinning.

"Yes, you are," Dirk says with good humor, then refocuses on you. "How do you feel?"

You move your hands slowly, in case he's about to stop you or something. But no. You touch the things placed over your ears, and feel your eyes cross a little at the… it's more an absence of sensation than anything concrete, something wholly peculiar as you trace the edge of the jellyfish's head. it fits completely snug against your skin, following the contour of your head to make almost a seal. Running your fingers over the cap itself gives you such a fucking intense rush in your head, you bite your lower lip, trying to touch it… cautiously. Light pressure first, then harder, until you gasp and jerk your hands away.

Dirk watches diligently, maybe to ensure you don't mess them up.

Oh. He's waiting. You swallow through the tightness in your throat. "Odd as a pair of left feet, honestly, but…" You lean a bit to look at Roxy. "You understand me?"

"Sure do, 'pode. And can I say that is a great look for you." Her many tentacles open wide and close, propelling her over to float over Dirk's shoulder. "Finally got some color to you."

"What?" You hold out your hand near your cheek. You can see an amber glow across your palm, presumably from the jellycaps. "Oh."

"Matches that neck jewelry you're working," she says approvingly. "Currents and serpents, Dirk, I hate you."

"Yeah, huh," Dirk says, unconcerned. "No pain?"

"None at all," you tell him. "Just sort of… Numb, but full?" You lift a hand to touch one of the caps again, then look at Roxy looming over you both and decide better of it. "Am I speaking mer now?"

"Eeeeeeh." Roxy waves a hand. "Not exactly, but you might! It's more like we added some radiant translator tech to you that anyone can understand so long as they can see your adorable glowbobbers. We can sort of pull your intent out of the color-- listen, it's all very scientific and _very_ impressive."

"I'm sure." You smile at her. "Thank you, I suppose? Does this mean we can see the rest fo the city?"

"Tomorrow," Dirk says firmly. He places a hand on your head. "I want to keep an eye on you overnight first."

"It's not night yet!" Roxy sways hard into Dirk, her body nearly shoving him over as she drapes herself over his back. He grunts and puts a hand on the floor. "You're not going to use my totally amazing gifts then kick me out without so much as a nibble, are you?" She pokes his shoulder with a finger.

"Gifts, like all the research I dropped in your lap enabling you to expand your creations and make the damn things in the first place?" Despite his complaint, she purrs loudly and bumps her head against him. He gives you an apologetic glance, then asks, "Are you hungry now? I might have to feed Roxy before she does something rash."

"Don't make it sound bad! If I'm your guest, you have to feed me! That's hospitality!"

You reach out and pat Dirk's hand where it sits, propping him up. "I suppose I could eat. And I'm not such a heel I would deny a lady a decent meal."

"Aww," Roxy says, and flicks your nose. "You're good. I like you. Dirk, I _haaate_ you."

"Whatever." Dirk pushes Roxy off him, and swims away, towards the bell jar full of food. Roxy whines and grabs hold of the floor with her tentacles, chasing after him.

You watch them go, their voices no longer grating against your head. As you sit and let Snug mouth at your hair, you touch one of your caps idly, the fingers of your other hand curling tight in the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have defeated depression again to provide y'all with fic
> 
> /bows
> 
>  
> 
> ~~also jake in jellycaps is so cute don't judge me~~


	9. I am your boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Body mod and sleepovers and exposition and somnophilia, oh my!

When you sleep, it's deep and lovely and like molasses. Your arms are full of soft tendrils that cup around you, your ear resting lightly against your elbow in a way that makes your head ring with a strange full warm feeling.

Eventually, Dirk taps you awake, hanging onto the edge of the shellbed and stirring you from sleep with fingertips rubbing circles around the back of your neck.

You try to pull in tighter, recalcitrant and wanting to have a lazy morning.

Dirk hums, not displeased but certainly a little impatient. It strums along through you, tugging at something in your head, strings plucking, and your synapses fire with every tonal shift. Before long, you are squirming, reaching up to rub your face, blinking awake for him.

"Ugh," you tell him and pout, jutting out your lip to express your deep abiding annoyance.

"You can't sleep forever," Dirk tells you. "We have some things to do today. I've already picked up some things, come down and eat."

Food. _Yes._ Dirk floats to wrap his tail around one of the struts in the room, holding in place and picking out a few things, presumably breakfast. Catching your hands on the edge of the shell, you shove yourself after him, limbs slipping loose from the clinging bedstuff.

Grabbing hold of the edge of a strut, you find an empty hammock shelf and sit there, watching Dirk's hands. He has some oblong orange seed-looking deal, coated in shiny-hard bumps. He hands you one, then demonstrates sort of cracking the tip of the seed-thing like a glowstick. It comes off easily, and the bumpy shell just comes apart all over, falling to pieces. Inside is a much more edible-looking spongey thing. Without being told, you bend down and bite that part; it has the density of breakfast cake and an almost milky taste.

Dirk watches you. Swallowing, you nod. "Not bad. Absolutely edible."

"Good. Figuring out your alien food tastes is a tenuous task at best," he tells you. "Here."

You also eat something that is like a tube of vegetable chalk. It comes in long string-bean things. Dirk just snaps each one in half and uses his teeth to drag the vegetal stuff out before tossing the outer casing away.

One floats down towards Snug, who catches it mid-soma and munches it down.

"Are we going to go out today?" you ask when you start feeling full. Dirk's place is nice and peaceful, octopoded interlopers beside. But you want to see how these mer people go about their lives and such, what else is tucked into the strange mixmatched buildings that make up this city, what other oddities you can see.

"Briefly," Dirk says, and his tail uncurls from the post enough to flutter against your feet. "Tomorrow, I'll show you around some places, but today…" He sighs. "I have to take a trip. I won't be gone long. But Roxy will keep an eye on you."

Your stomach flip flops. "You're leaving?"

Dirk's glowbulbs brighten up-- you cannot recall the last you've seen them take a rest honestly-- and he pets your shoulders. "It's a safety precaution I have to take care of. I'll be back in two strokes."

"And I can't come?"

"No," Dirk says firmly. "Too dangerous."

You gawk at him. "Oh, you're just leaving me to sit a spell while you go on some dangerous excursion! Heavens to Mergatroyd, why would I even worry a hair on my head about that!"

"I'll be fine, and you don't have anything to worry about." He unrolls from the spoke, tail a fluid dance of motion and orange fins, before reaching for you. You're still frowning as you grab onto his shoulders, but he pulls you free and carries you over to the far side of the room, about two-thirds of the way up the wall.

There is a curved bench jutting out of the wall over here. When he sets you down on it, you can't help but remember so many similar moments back in his workshop. You brace yourself on the smooth stone and scoot to a comfortable position. "Are we playing doctor and patient? Got any straps for me?"

Dirk smiles softly, reaching up to grab some thin rungs over your head, aligning himself to float in front of you. "Not really necessary. You're not going to eel-shake away, are you?"

"No," you say, a little sullen. But if you did, maybe that would demand some strappy fun? Worth considering, but maybe another day. "Then what's on the docket?"

Dirk takes one of your hands and pulls it close. His fingers open yours, spreading them, bending your knuckles. Testing them maybe? You don't mind.

He picks up a tool, a pointy polished bit on one side, a little blade on the other. He drags the pointy bit along the inside of your finger. You twitch. "Can you keep still, or is that another involuntary reaction?"

"It's ticklish as all hell, Dirk," you tell him.

He nods and walks his fingers along the bench itself, pushing against different spots. Eventually, a little hidden flap swings open on a hinge. Inside is some yellow-green jam. "Keeping still is very important. I want you to try not to move your hands until I'm done."

You blink once, slowly, then nod. "Okay."

The next tool he grabs is just a paintbrush. He swirls it in the jam until the fibers are coated, then paints it in a neat V from finger to finger, filling the space between each one. With another dip, he gathers more, and stripes it down your palm, then a perfect unbroken line around your wrist before putting it away. He flips the little compartment shut and just holds your arm with a firm, still grip.

The lemon-mint jam must be some sort of local anaesthetic, because your hand goes numb. It's not like the stuff they use at home in med kits though. The numbness is warm and soothing, and you sigh as it sinks in. After trying to wiggle your fingers and only getting a twitch, you tell him, "All set."

"Good." He reaches past you, humming contemplatively to himself. You twist to look; there aren't shelves back there, but curtains of stuff. Maybe some kind of hanging seaweed stuff, but much more fibrous and colorful. There is even a neat organization to it, yellows and reds and oranges together next to purple and maroon next to blues and whites and greens.

"Do you like a color more than others?" Dirk asks.

"Dunno if I have a favorite, but I like greens and blues, mostly."

Dirk nods once and thumbs through the curtainy material. Eventually, he settles on one and pulls it outward, cutting a swath of it with his little scalpel. Spreading it out over the bench, he returns to your hand.

Cleaning the jam off, you are still all warm and lax in his grip. He pokes your fingertip with the pointy tool. Your hand doesn't respond, and he hums again, pleased.

Some more goop gets spread over your fingers, this time a painted line from the last knuckle of your index finger to the knuckle of your thumb. This muck goes on like a line of superglue, beaded up and gleaming every color of the rainbow as the light hits it in new ways. You lean in to look, and Dirk chirps softly at you; you lean back again, sighing.

Then he takes that scalpel up and you stiffen. Not anything beyond your wrist, of course, but the rest of you does.

"No," Dirk says quellingly. Just that.

But you blink again, and furrow your brow at something in your head. A rustle, a stroke that you can't put your finger on, like suede slipping against your mind. The texture rubs away your worry, and you sit still the best you can. And your best is very good.

Everything seems a little untethered from you. The hand Dirk's holding is yours, of course. But it doesn't feel like it. You watch as if through a screen or aquarium glass as his sharp little precision blade bisects the beaded line of glimmering stuff. Under it you can see red, but nothing spills out, apparently held in place by the gel. The line he makes is absolutely perfect and clean, navigating skin from one point to the opposite.

He picks up some of the bio-textile stuff he picked out. Under his glowbulbs, you can see the color is a seafoam green, gradienting to a dull, pastel blue. Dirk flips it one way, then the other before seeming to decide and cutting it.

Yet another tool is appearified from the bench somewhere, a weird rod with a spatula tip that's coated in more glimmery stuff. Bent over you, Dirk leans close to this work as he fits one corner of the material against the edge of the slice. Using the edge of the spatula, he connects it, coaxing it into place before following the rest of the line, from thumb to finger.

When it’s set, as if it were glue, he pulls the fingers carefully apart so they don't touch and the material doesn't fold.

While that 'dries' or whatever, he moves to the pinky and ring finger, and repeats the entire process until another fan of material is setting in place. Then, index finger to middle. Then, middle to ring.

Eventually, four stretches of seaglass-colored web are set into place. When that is accomplished, he looks the entire display over, nudging and scooting things around with the spatula tool until it’s perfect.

Then, finished with that one, he lifts your arm and places your hand up to hook your wrist limply over a horizontal rung a foot over your head.

You hold still as he picks up your other hand, and starts the process over again. Jam, warm soaking numbness, rainbow glue, careful slice, and spatula-ing the seaglass material in.

That hand joins the other, resting up and away. Once he's done, Dirk puts all his tools away, then cups your face in both of his hands. His lips press against your forehead for a long moment, lingering and plush and pressure enough you sigh and shut your eyes, drifting like that. You'd like to lower your arms, loop them around his shoulders, but that's not allowed, and you just let him kiss you chastely a few times.

"That was wildly beyond my expectation," he tells you. "You did great."

You grin, like unearthing a shell from wet beach sand. "Oh. Thanks," you murmur, happy with a sensation like found treasure in your chest.

It's some time before you can move, though. Dirk helps you sip soma with your straw (he did successfully repair it, to your total lack of surprise) and feeds you a few pink-gold cherry-shaped fruits that taste candy sweet and get stuck in your gums.

You know you're done when Dirk taps your arms. Carefully, you lower your hands from the rungs and hold them out.

"Stress test," Dirk tells you. "While you're still numb."

That makes sense. You clench your fist, feeling the way the new fins fold up between your fingers. Even with the tightest fist you can make, they don't tear or pull. You spread your fingers out to their limit next. Dirk even reaches in, pushing your ring finger up further. Still no problems.

Dirk grabs the rungs himself and shoves himself back, floating away before beckoning you. "Hands only."

You start with your legs just because… that's what your body wants to do when you swim. Still, it doesn't take more than a moment before you catch yourself and stop that. Instead you take a moment to figure out how the fuck these things work. Holding them closed when you stroke forward, opening them when you push your hand through the soma so it catches against the fins and lets you pull forward faster.

It's sort of neat? You think it might be pretty neat.

With all your focus on getting the swimming right, you bump right into Dirk's chest before you realize it. He catches you, and strokes a heavy palm through your hair.

Now that you're brought to a stop, you look closely at your hands to examine what the good hell he did. "Now that is some sound spellcraft," you mutter, flicking at the web between two fingers. Experimentally, you give it a tug to see if it'll break. Instead, it just hurts like anytime you pull at your skin or pinch yourself. "Ouch."

"Yeah, don't do that," Dirk says, low and rumbling with a good basso hum as he keeps petting your hair. "That should make it easier for you to swim around."

"Once I figure out the dadgum steps in the locomotion, certainly," you tell him. When you sneak a glance up at him, his face is soft and happy. Your cheeks go hot and you look down again, resting your head on his rumbly chest for a moment.

He wraps both his arms around you and puts his head in your hair. "We should go see Roxy," Dirk mutters.

But he doesn't move right away, and you are perfectly happy right where you are, waving a hand to and fro through the soma and learning the new sensation of it catching against your little seaglass fins.

It feels like ages later when Dirk straightens. "Okay, we gotta go. Come on." And he leans in to kiss your ear, the heavy soft cap fitted over it.

The shifting flow of _something_ in your head makes you shiver all over, and you sigh through it. "Right. Sure, lead the way."

 

* * *

 

Roxy apparently lives much further down in the hollowed out mountain of Isaura. Dirk warns you before you leave that it'll be a little like falling, and the heads-up is great. You hold onto his back and tuck your face mostly in his fins as he climbs out of his house and starts to make his way down. As such, most of the journey is just soma running through your hair and your attention on Dirk's powerful tail as he moves. Not anything like a hardship.

As such, you feel it when he slows down, and choose then to lift your head and take in the new horizon.

You are deep enough that things are dark. Down here, you can see the mouth of the mountain up above your head, due west. Here, there is shadow, broken up with long grassy runs of kelp that grow so long they'd put old sequoias to shame, their central stalks filled with neon that casts out just enough light to see by.

There are strange places down here. Some tunnels dug into the dark soil with half-clams acting as doors, a few old tubes of coral large enough to swim through and apparently live inside, and several porous rocks hollowed out to accomodate what looks like groups of mers.

Dirk swims past most of them and finds the inner wall of the mountain. Here, you can see homes embedded into stone or carved through it. The one Dirk takes you to is built out of the outer shell of some enormous animal, like a horseshoe crab or turtle. It's mounted into the stone, following the curve, and near the top, where the creature's mouth might've once been, there is an arch of coral, pink and blue and glowing merrily through the surrounding gloom.

"You lot sure do like living inside the tidy leavings of other, bigger creatures, don't you," you ask Dirk as he flicks his way to the illuminated entrance.

"As opposed to, what? Throwing useful pieces out?" Dirk reaches out and grabs the coral arch and hauls himself through the opaque soma barrier there. "Roxy, are you in?" he called out as soon as you break through to the other side

The abode tucked into this grand shell is very large but also very deep. Dave's little house of rebubbling seemed rather normal to your human sensibilities. Dirk's round floating house was a little stranger, using elevation much more than you were used to.

Roxy's home was all depth. inside the shell, you could see the remaining spine was strung with bright illumination, and the branching ribs were stuffed full of things: food, tools, masses of bubbles shoved into place, and other things you couldn't hope to recognize. All the way down, at the bottom, was some transplanted soil with glowy leafy plants growing rampant. Indoor gardens seemed to be common for mer homes.

Spotting Roxy herself takes a few seconds; with her biolum turned all the way down, she blends into the stone wall well. Only when she gives up the game with a cry of delight do you locate her, watching her scurry up the wall with her tentacles, lightning quick. "Hey, neighbor. Hey… uh. Shit, what's your name, I totally forgot."

Dirk nudges you off his back. You're a little reluctant to let go, but still slip free, letting Dirk pull you to float in front of him, his hands cupping your elbows. "Jake, you can call me Jake."

"Jake! Jake, Jake, Jake, I won't forget again. Jake-Jake." She grins at you and then looks up over your head, at Dirk. "Running late, guppy?"

"Had some work to do before leaving." Dirk draws your arm up. You offer your hand.

Roxy gasps and whips a tentacle around your wrist, pulling you in closer. "Ooooh! That's useful to have. Nice color too!" One suckered tip pushes up against your palm, tilting your hand around. "You always do such neat work, damn."

"Patience pays for itself," Dirk says while Roxy's tentacle continues to twist and curl around your arm. You gulp and try to hold still as the suckers pull at your skin in weird places. "Speaking of, here."

Dirk hands Roxy your filter straw. She snaps it up with her humanoid hands to look it over critically. "Ooooh, I see. You said it can't filter out harmful material when it-- he! Sorry, shit, he drinks?" She lowers the straw, tossing it lazily aside. Another tentacle immediately grabs it as she looks at you. "Jake, he, human. I'll get it, I promise."

Another of her inky black tentacles finds your ankle and starts twisting upward from there. "Uh! Ahhh!?"

"Roxy," Dirk says sharply.

"Fuck, shit, sorry!" She releases you all at once and ripples herself a little further away. "Sorry, I'm a hugger, and you are _so warm_ , it's weird!"

Dirk hums unhappily. "Maybe I should--"  
  
"No, I got this! I will take the _bestest_ care of your invader, and you will pick him up tomorrow in better shape than you left him, and go, _well, damn, Roxy, you really are the best._ "

Instead of answering, Dirk looks at you, face almost precisely blank, eyes locked on yours.

Even without him saying, you know what's up. And you consider it for a moment, sliding Roxy little sideways looks while you turn it 'round in your mind like an antique puzzle cube.

You were just thinking how much you wanted to see things outside Dirk's place. "I'll be fine," you tell him, and reach out to stroke one of his pelvic fins, following it up to his hip.

He nods. "Okay. I'll be back as soon as I can." Tugging you forward, Dirk curls you against his chest again and hums out a lovely note. "You'll be fine," he reasserts.

"Who are you and where is Dirk," Roxy asks with a dreamy tone. "You're so huggy! You've bestowed like more hugs onto him than you've ever hugged me! Unfair." She gives you a big-eyed look. "Hang on. Am I unhuggable? What do you think, give it to me straight, invader."

"I… don't think I'm ready to make a call on that, if'm honest," you say.

You feel Dirk laugh before he eases you away. "The more time I spend here, the longer I'm going to be. I'll pick you up when I'm done."

"Bye. Be safe, wherever you're swanning off to," you tell him.

For that, you get another trigger-pull smooch on the forehead before he swims away, back up out of the house and away.

You watch the end of his tail vanish overhead, then look back at your host.

Roxy is looking back at you, her hands clapped over her cheeks. When you meet her eyes, she looks away, around at her house. "Wow, 'kay, so. This is gonna be hellaciously awkward, given everything I know about you is, like from all of Dirk's research, and you _know_ what he's like, all detached and shit. Having you actually here and real is totally different. So!" She waves your straw. "I'm going to go dissect this and see what I got to work with. I'm _begging_ you, look around, make yourself at home, or else this is gonna be a really tense evening, you know?"

You give her the best smile you can muster. Not a five star one, certainly, but you think it's good enough to reassure her. "I can do that."

"Great! And hey, once the 'podes stop hiding, you can feed them if you want?" She points to a shelf fairly far down along the ribs. "In that container, I got treats."

"Podes?" you ask.

Roxy slides down the wall, then stretches out to the opposite, her tentacles extended. At her full length, she has just enough reach to attach to the other side and drag herself across. "Cuddlepodes! Just go find a spot and sit still and they'll come say hi!"

Following what Roxy is doing is pretty much impossible. With almost a dozen limbs working in concert to handle whatever she's up to, you cannot make head or tails out of it.

Instead of trying, you swim over to the treats Roxy indicated. Getting used to the flash of color every time you move your hands is going to take some time, but you think your forward thrust is better now? Heh, thrust.

You pull alongside the right shelf; there is a round coral remnant sitting there with a cork shoved into the top. Pulling the stopper loose, you look inside. The jar is about half-full with red-brown flakes that remind you of dried leaves. Reaching in, you grab a handful before replacing the stopper.

The house is full of curved shelves, many of which you could sit on. There's also little alcoves carved into the mountain wall, some hammock slings like Dirk has, and towards the bottom an enormous clam, sitting half-open and showing off vivid rose pink and purple-black flesh. Along the floor are growing plants, but also a wide, smooth rock with a perfect concave divot in the middle.

That looks good. You swim down to that, bracing a hand on it to lower yourself down. As you get close, you see the solid rock is actually some kind of coral, covered in round bumps. Each one is soft and matte, just enough friction to keep you in place as you sit down. When you settle in, it’s fiendishly comfy, and the divot is deep enough for you to lean back and lounge.

Now, presumably you just have to wait.

For a few minutes, the only motion is above you, as Roxy flits from station to station, working away at something. You can let your mind unfocus as you watch her legs move, hypnotic confusing movement that begs your eyes to relax.

Only after you've silently observed her for a while does anything come out of hiding.

The plantlife down here rustles, and you turn your head slowly to look. No sudden movements.

The creature that crawls onto the coral rock lounger is a ball of petals at first glance. The thing is rounded, with overlapping circular wings clinging to the coral, each one laying flat and following the bumpy surface. Above the many petal wings is the approximate head. Like the ovikopos, it has no eyes, instead a big glowing seed nestled deep in translucent flesh. You're reminded of a lightbulb sitting in a rose.

As it 'looks' at you, it glows, the same warm pink as Roxy's spots. When you continue to stay still, nearly holding your breath, it glows brighter in a pulse and scuttles closer. Out of its bulbous head comes a few thin filaments that wave more excitedly.

"I assume this is a cuddlepode," you call up, eyes not leaving the thing.

"Don't feed 'em too many treats! They're super downstream and will just gobble until they burst," Roxy replies, sounding distracted.

"Downstream," you mumble. There's that term again. But the last thing you want is to hurt the little… bulb guy. You pinch a few out of the pile you have and set the rest aside. "Hey there…"

As soon as you speak to it, the little petal ball shivers and lifts its cloud of floaty arms up, covering it's ballhead and dimming its color. "Aww," you whine, unable to help yourself. "Don't do that, come here. I have… leafy stuff… for you."

You have to hold still, your hand out, for another solid minute before the cuddlepode stops hiding in its own fins and peeks at you. As much as something without eyes can peek.

"Do they have names?" you ask.

"Yeah but all of them are sort of subvocal sounds. Maybe later you can figure out how to do that. Might need an extra bit of gear to make that work." Roxy hums at you. "Hey, you breathe down that same flesh tube, right? That you drink with?"

"Yeah." You try to do that psst-psst noise that works on some cats. That coaxes the pode up a bit, fluttering closer.

You hold your breath until its soft floaty fins touch your fingertip. It's _so_ light and feathery, your finger twitches. But now that it’s made contact, the creature hurries up onto your palm and you can feel its fins lap and pull at your skin with faint pulses of suction, eating up the flakes. When it’s done, it keeps patting at your hand, turning around, exploring.

"No more," you tell it, and slowly move it over to your knee. It goes peacefully and starts tapping and fluttering around, exploring there too.

Petting its round lightbulb head makes it light up further, which you think is a good sign. It's got give to it, and you bop it a little to feel it bounce back. It flutters around more with a faint hum, sucking down on your leg to anchor itself. You bop it a few more times for fun.

Something tickles your ass, and you jolt, yelping. Luckily the pode on your leg doesn't move as you twist to look.

There's about ten more of the cuddlepodes crawling up the coral rock behind you, all trying to crawl over each other to grab at the remaining flakes. Oh, shit. You shove your hands into them and scoop up the remaining treats and try to pull them away with a bunch of podes latching onto you. The rest swoop in and start their assault, fluttering against your legs and hips before climbing straight up, their bulbs poking out from you.

You can't help laughing, because the mix of suction and feather duster dances is a deadly mix. The last thing you want to do is hurt any of them, so you try your best not to slap at the sensitive points where they work their way up onto you. But one scales your spine like a mountaineer while others space out around your lap. A pode toys with the wiry hair just by your belly button and you wheeze, pushing them away to a new position so they'll stop.

There's a crusade of little alien critters going on, and you curl up, sucking in deep breaths as they nip up the remaining treats and just find spots to dig in and relax. As they settle in, their little petal fins shift open and closed, soft and gentle against your skin. Each one glows merrily pink, and you examine them.

"Amazing," Roxy says, and you look up. She's watching from a little ways above, still attached to the wall. Apparently watching the mess you've got yourself in.

She has glittery stuff on her finger, and coats her lips to blow a bubble. It's a fast one, just one long breath of humming before she closes it off. With the back of her arm, she wipes the excess off her mouth. "Sorry, Dirk needs to experience this when he gets back. That was adorable. You doing okay?"

"Uh." You look at all the podes attached to you. They aren't moving around anymore. Just holding on with their little suction. "I think so?"

"Great. You sit there and pet the podes, I'm finishing some prep." She grins at you, then roils her way back up the wall.

That's that, you suppose. Slowly, making sure not to smush anyone, you sink back into the divot in the coral, taking time to rub a few silly bulbheads around you. Soon, they all start humming, each one a slightly different note, each one sweet and nice.

You let out a long breath and relax.

Roxy takes a lot longer than you anticipate. Which works out fine. You discover that all the little podes with their warm pale light kind of make you drowsy. Your seat is pretty comfortable, so you reposition a few of them so you can curl on your side.

One of the podes winds up sort of attached to your forehead, happily running its petal arms through your hair. It's a nice feeling, and coaxes you further along to resting your eyes. Sleep doesn't take you, but you doze a little, one hand cupped over a pode heads, rubbing in slow circles.

The soma is disturbed over you, which makes you start to stir. Then Roxy hums, and all her little critters hum back and start letting go of you, floating away.

You sit up and frown, looking at them all swim around the house. In their wake, you are covered in little dark hickeys in the places they held on. "Hey," you complain through a yawn.

"Wakey, Jakey," Roxy says, settling on the coral seat next to you. "But not too wakey, this'll be easier if you're not totally up and at 'em for it." One of her tentacles curls around your arm, rolling you onto your back.

You yawn again, and cover it with a hand. "Mmkay. What're we doing?"

"A few little improvements. I just need to know something first." She taps your neck. "Can this come off, or is that, like, a cultural thing for invaders. Humans. Whatever."

You reach up and touch your airator. "Oh. It's-- I can't take it off, no, sorry. My species isn't aquatic or somatic, right, so at deep levels, the… pressure of soma is too heavy, and we can't breathe, basically? This doodad keeps breath smooth as buttered ice."

"Oh, shit, really? You don't have any regulatory glands for that to help…" She hums and runs her fingers over her chin. "I assume it's expelling soma that's the problem?"

"I think so? I'm not really an expert. But basically."

"Well, let's snip that thing off and give you something a little more reliable!"

"No, don't!" You grab her hand hastily. She stills, blinking down at you in confusion. "Or, erm, that sounds as useful as an army knife, no doubt, but the airator's are also alarms. If they are broken while we're underwater, they set off this enormous sonic wave that the COO will be able to track. I'm not-- uh, not keen on… being found just yet, if that's all the same to you."

Roxy crosses her arms and leans back, lips pressed together. A low hum fills the air around you. "Thinking, hold your ovikopos a sec."

While she spins her gears, you shift around until you're comfortable. Her hands are empty, but you can see tools wrapped up in several of her tentacles, waiting for use. Your heart beats a little faster at the sight of what's closest: it looks like a mer pen, a point attached to a tube filled with that glimmering rainbow material.

You look down at your hand. With one hand, you trace the point where your new webbing meets your skin. Dirk's work was meticulous, and seems to have already healed; everything fits so well, you'd think you were born with it, seamless and even contrasting nicely against your dark skin.

"Hey," Roxy says, and you finally tear your eyes away, back up at her.

She pats your hand with a free tentacle. "Dirk does great work. Like, all his plumage, he applied most of that himself, everything he could reach anyway. He's a skilled splicer to be sure." Here, she grins. You can see most of her teeth are flat like Dirk's but a few are sharper and gleam. "But I'm way better. So I'm gonna fix you up, _and_ I'll leave your weird jewelry alone for now."

"You really can't slice it up," you tell her entreatingly. "It'd be _very_ bad."

She gives you a swift pat-pat on your head. "Oh, I know, I got it. I'll be supes careful. Now."

All of her pink glow kindles like fire, radiating out from her stripes and speckles until it rains its light over your entire body, and into your eyes. You blink once, then find you cannot blink again. Every muscle in your body goes loose like a slipped belt, hanging useless.

Roxy settles over your legs and wraps up your arms, easing them up and back to hang over the back of the coral stone. A line of suckers presses into your face, and coaxes your head back, into the bed of a looped tentacle. You can't move. Your worries are smudged away by sweet rose-gold light.

 _Sleep_ it tells you, and you sink like a pebble into a lake.

 

* * *

 

For once, you don't sleep well at all.

Or, the first time, you do. When Roxy pushes you under seathrall anesthesia, you are dead to the world as she does her work. The funny thing is that once you stir again, it's from a handful of podes littering your body and getting all personal. One happens to find the skin on the inside of your elbow, and that wakes you up like a cock crowing.

You know Roxy was going to do some, erm. Internal touch ups on you. But when you carefully trace your neck and chest, you can't find where she went in. But she informs you it’s safe to take a drink now.

You do, and feel your head spin with a seasick wave of discombobulated emotions. You have something added to you to make you _drink the ocean_ with impunity. And it works, apparently. Mouthfuls of water go down fine, and you don't feel anything inside you doing filtering or what-have-you. But you're changed.

For a second, you grip your knees tightly and shake.

But it doesn't last. You're fine. You're kept and safe, and it's nothing to worry about. You don't have to worry. That's not your job.

Slowly, you reach up and press your palms against the jellycaps over your ears. Biting your lip, you feel the weird almost-feeling of something in there. It's absent from your ears, but you think you feel the ambient effect in your jaw as your mouth opens around a deep, deep breath. Squirming and pressing your legs together at the bizarro psuedo-reaction, you force yourself to let go and calm down.

Anyway, it's later when you can't fucking sleep.

Roxy is a fantastic host. She feeds you dinner, letting you try half her somatic pantry until you find things that suit your tastes. Letting her laugh at your grossed out grimaces when something is too tart or the texture's too weird feels nice, and when you're done, she _asks_ if you'd be down for a hug.

You agree, and wind up engulfed in half her tentacles. It'd be all of them if you weren't so small compared to her; there's no room to wrap you up more.

When you wiggle, she lets you go and pats your head.

After everything's wound down, she offers you her bed; its the enormous clam mounted on the stone wall. You're loathe to take a gentlelady's bed for yourself, but she insists, and cites her greater role in the hospitality between you both. It sounds important, and you don't want to ruffle any tentacles, so you let her tuck you up into the clamshell.

Inside is buttery soft. Not as nice as Dirk's nautilus bed with its built in anemone butler, but the mossy substance inside is so loose, you manage to pull some of it over you like a blanket. You sort of miss that, blankets and being able to wrap up. Do mers have blankets? You need to ask Dirk later.

All of that is well and good, but while you try to bed down and count some space sheep (and then spend a few minutes imagining nudisheep, which delights you), sleep does not come.

It turns out mers can snore. And Roxy, sprawled out over the soft coral seat below you, lets out some absolute weather sirens from her slack mouth.

Mer snoring is indescribably worse. It has _layers._

You drag the clam bedding over your head to try and muffle it, but the mer undertone, that hum thing, doesn't seem to be completely aural? You can _feel it._ You can feel that Roxy is comfortable and happy and sawing logs like a lumberjack trying to meet a quota, and it sucks.

So you don't sleep well. The idea hits you that it'd probably be easy for Roxy to knock you back asleep with her seathrall, and you might be lucky enough to sleep through her snoring.

But… one does not just go and whap their host back to the waking world to demand some shut eye! You can't. So you grab some more treats and sit up in the clam bed, letting the cuddlepodes plant some more hickeys on you. Adorable soft little blighters.

In the morning, you are covered in little red marks and hold onto the shelf you're sitting on, swaying around sleepily as Roxy croons and wrings her hands.

"Aw, poor little 'pode, was the bed no good? Shit, I'm sorry. You could've slapped me awake, I would've come up with something," she tells you.

In hindsight, yes. Yes, you should have done that. At the moment, there's nothing for it, though, and you give her a smile. "I slept a bit, it's fine! Worst comes to worst, I'll have a kip later."

With more wordless, upset noises, Roxy shoves some cuddlepodes into your lap and feeds you the very best food she has, patting your head uselessly a few times. It makes it easy to forgive her. So long as you never have to stay here overnight again.

You're pretty sure it's just easing in towards the Alcyone afternoon when Dirk returns. He pokes into Roxy's house, hanging around the entryway with his crown spokes lifted, seeming nervous. "Hey, I'm back."

"Oh thank the sea and all its pull," Roxy says loudly as soon as she twirls around to see him. "Take your pet and get out!"

Dirk doesn't even blink, just swims in, down to where you're sitting in the floor garden. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Shoo!" Roxy says, giving Dirk's tail a whack as he sails by her.

"If you want to convince me Jake acted up or was anything less than a polite as fuck guest, you'll need to put some effort into it," Dirk says, still swimming towards you. When he's close enough, you reach out and take his hand.

"Hullo," you greet softly. "Your trip was okay? Not dangerous?"

"I had to dismantle my workshop back towards the invader base," he tells you. "Just to make sure no one saw it. If you're right and they don't realize there's intelligent life here, the workshop would be a tip off."

"Oh," you say quietly.

"And, uh…" He rubs his nudihair with his other hand. "I brought your spherical companion back with me. In case you wanted to watch your human holo videos."

Gasping, you can't help but grin. "You got Terry?"

"Yeah. He's back at my place." Now that he's close, Dirk leans in and squints at your neck. One of his fingers runs down the column, over your Adam's apple, down to your clavicle. "This… is amazing fucking work. I can't even find the seam." He looks back over his shoulder. "You… _did_ do the splice, right?"

Roxy knuckles her hips and stares at Dirk. "That and more, thank you very much. Your little invader can drink soma and can self-regulate pressure so he doesn't suffocate. Figured while I was in there, I should do both."

"You're very impressive and I appreciate the sophistication of your work," Dirk says, once again looking at you. His hands slide down your arms. "You look tired."

Roxy is still watching. You cup your hands over your jellycaps and whisper to Dirk, "Roxy snores."

He snorts loudly, covering his mouth. "Right, makes sense. Then, you won't want to go with me to the Median, I assume? I can take you home first so you can sleep."

But at the mention of an outing, with an audible proper noun and everything, you sit up straighter. "Median?"

"Get me more 'pode treats!" Roxy demands from above.

"Fine," Dirk tells her, and shakes his head ruefully at you. "It's a sort of meeting place for the people of Isaura to bring the things they harvest or create, to exchange them with those who need them. The local keepers will take stock of our production, in case someone needs assistance. I just go there for supplies, though."

This sounds like a mer farmer's market to you, and as a travel reporter of a sort, you know to never pass up a chance to peep the local wares and cuisines. "I can forgo some shut-eye to grab a gander at your Median."

"If you're sure," Dirk says. "You can stay on my back, in case you need a nap."

"So accommodating! But I'll be good, lets go see this mer nexus."

Despite all her posturing to throw you out, Roxy snatches you over to hug you before you leave. Thankfully it's just her arms and three of her tentacles. Completely doable for you. When she lets go, you thank her for everything, and take Dirk's hand.

He tows you along easily, out of Roxy's house, and rising above the dim underbelly of Isaura, back into the glimmering somatic light.

 

* * *

 

The Median is rather fittingly around the middle of Isaura, where the shadowy undercity comes together and the tower begins to stretch upward. Directly in the middle, the people around you get dense, with more ovikopos flying by, more mers of varying sizes and shapes. Some of the larger ones might have a time of it, getting into the structure, but the entrances are just long, wide arches, more than enough room for anyone to work their way in.

You cling to Dirk's back as he swims, slowing to twirl his way through the egress point, letting departing mers pass him by.

Through the archway, you are in a skyscraper of a Farmer's Market of merdom. The bottom floor area, nebulous as it is without many solid _ground_ areas, is filled with mers in small clusters, talking and beaming light in each others' faces, twining tails, and loading up slung shoulder bags with items.

The bulk of things are above your head; the middle of the tower is open-soma, and mers swim up and down the center, carefully navigating around each other. Closer to the walls, there are other mers set up with wares and flora and things on offer.

The entire place is busy; even the walls seem a little much. Light comes in through the plating. The Median seems to be built out of broken pieces of shells, all different shapes and curves and patterns, cemented together in a vague round shape. The colors thrown by the light through the shells casts over the people inside, clashing and heightening their bodies in alternately interesting and gaudy ways.

A few mers pass closeby, and you hitch tighter against Dirk, your chin tucked into his backfins, letting you peer over his shoulder as he swims away from the sort of atrium ground area and upward into the tower.

Mers think vertically, you are realizing more and more. There are half-shells set into the cement grooves along the tower, and each one is a bowl holding wares. You see arrays of powders that remind you of a spice market, a hoard of capsules that contain what look like baby cuddlepodes ready for a good home, little clay pot containers filled with dark soil and the kind of kelpy grass Snug eats, a soapy bath's worth of colorful bubbles, the _materials_ for bubbling with black stalks and rainbow flowers, so many things you can barely take it all in! There's even a half-shell full of what looks like a bed of multi-colored nudibranch tendrils, and you watch a mer hover over them and compare the colors to their fins, looking for a match. Holy brass trumpets.

You spin almost completely around, just one hand keeping you attached to Dirk's back as he carries you. When he finally comes to a stop, he turns quickly, startling you to let go and drift in front of him.

"I just need to pick up a few things," he tells you, voice pitching strangely as the sound bounces off all the other ambient chatter and humming around you.

"Sure," you say, your eyes already slipping away from him to keep looking around.

Dirk's spokes brighten for a pulse, and you snap back to looking at him. "You're fine. Just don't wander off, alright?"

"And get myself lost in this morass of fins and frippery? Wouldn't dream of it," you tell him. "I'll be good as gold, don't you fret."

Dirk nods, and strokes your arm once before about-facing and checking in on some sort of purveyor of tools. They're all the same smooth glassy material as the ones back in his home and in the workshop, not quite gemstone but not just stone. You think maybe they're compressed coral? Your gran had a necklace like that once.

As Dirk speaks to the toolsmith, you scratch at your neck and carefully paddle yourself around to look some more.

More than a few half-shells are filled with very life-like material that reminds you of the webbing between your fingers. Sheets of gossamer fins, even some strange little clippings of what you think is mer skin, ready to be grafted on. One mer seems to have samples of ornately colored dorsal fins that make your stomach twist to see; it's still a little fucking weird to see how these beings just… swap things 'round whenever they feel like? It's like magic, even if you can tell it must be some sort of complex alien biotechnology, no more odd than Alternian tech was back in first contact.

Speaking of all that splicing stuff, you reach up and rub your neck. Dirk couldn't find the point where Roxy went in and did her mer surgery on you, and you frankly can't either. Wherever her entry point was, it was clean as bleached whistle.

You swallow some soma, just because you can, and paddle around.

There's a seller of the rainbow gel stuff that Dirk used on your webbing and Roxy probably used for her modifications. A whole clam bowl filled with the stuff. The tentacled mer overseeing the bowl watches as mers flit in with bags and scoops and such, gathering some up. To your immediate confusion, they only seem to hum thankful sounds at the seller before leaving.

You spin around to watch other buyers, and see that no one seems to be _buying_ per se. If there's any mer-credits being exchanged, you can't tell. Huh.

Checking on Dirk, you see him accept a roll of brown woven fabric with his tools inside. He too just hums at the toolsmith before leaving them.

His eyes flick around until he sees you. So assured, he moves onto another stall, glancing back at you to ensure you see him. You give him a thumbs up as he starts talking to someone who sells somatic fruits and veg.

You kick up further into the tower to match his height. Only then does the careful privacy around you pop.

A mer laden down with packs of bulbs and seeds glides to a stop near you, upside down at first, then flipping around as they focus on you. They are much larger than you, though not Roxy-large, and spotted all over like a glow in the dark leopard. Like Dirk, they have a seathrall focus, but it's set in their chest.

"Hi," you squeak as they stare at you.

"What are you," they say, voice a woody strum of noise. They have _three_ tails, narrow and whippy, that move in concert to let them circle you. You turn to follow, only to realize they're looking at your tag, the glowing spots.

Before you can even respond to this, another mer slows to stare at you. Their gaze is pitched low, and you worry about covering up for a second, before you realize its your feet they are staring at. Without even thinking about it, you tuck them up, using your cupped hands to move instead. "Uh, hey there…"

A mer taps your glowy tag, then leans in to peer at your ears. "Dirk ovied Strider? He was away to observe the…" The mer's eyes light up as they gawk at you. "You are invader!"

"Human! I'm human, thank you!"

"Hello, Invader Human," another one with slick lionfish spines says.

"No, that's… you're the People, right, I'm human, and my _name_ is Jake, how do you do," you try quickly to explain.

It doesn't help. All around you, the mers hum and chatter, their sounds bumping and ricocheting around your skull. You press a hand to your temple. The jellycaps were supposed to fix this, you assumed? But it's just so _much._

Thank the distant stars, Dirk swoops in to save you before anyone can be imprudent enough to reach out and touch you. They're itching to do it, you can see it in how their hands and tentacles lift around you. But Dirk hooks his hands under your arms and tugs you in. Without hesitation, you latch on, arms around his chest. With your face tucked in, you can feel him speak, even if the words aren't finding a home in your brain. It's fine; you've always found the sound of him unfairly comforting.

You maybe take to hiding for too long. Eventually, Dirk starts swimming around again, keeping an arm around you. Presumably going back to his business.

Electing to stop being a yellow-bellied sloth clinging to your mer host, you loosen your grip. Dirk stills when you do, and holds your shoulder as you ease back.

"Are you alright?" Dirk asks, the back of his fingers running over your cheek.

"Ye-- yes, mostly, I think?" You look briefly past him, and see glowing lights, hear murmurs and hums. Unlike before, they feel more… directed. Not just jangly ambient sound, but somehow sending shivers over your skin. "Are-- how far into your--" You grimace and lower your eyes to stare at the spots on his clavicle instead of meeting his gaze. "Are you nearly done?"

"I need to make two more stops," Dirk tells you, tone almost apologetic. "Do you want to rest?"

You swallow and nod. Just the idea of letting your eyes have a wander now makes your spine go tense.

"Okay. Shh." He hushes you, and reaches up to cup your head, to press his long fingers against your jellycapped ears. That's enough to make you jump and look up again, and you see the little moue of concentration on his face. But more pressingly, you can feel his fingers digging into the gelatinous round _glowbobbers_ you've got on, kneading the squishy flesh like dough.

Something moves inexplicably, indescribably, and your eyes unfocus as all around you, things fade out. Your hearing slowly muffles, until the din of light and voices and undervoices are wiped away from your perception.

All you can hear is Dirk's own low, warm hum.

He lets go and asks, "Better?"

Dazed, you nod. Now, you can only hear him. That's better. Much easier to handle.

His hands catch you around the waist, pushing and coaxing you around his hip until you obligingly reclaim your spot on his back. Bedding down into his soft fins is not a hardship, and you lay your cheek against the back of his neck as he returns to his errands around the Median.

You don't bother tracking all the things Dirk is gathering. Eventually, one of the mers shopkeeps (if that's even the term, you're not sure actually?) gives Dirk a basket, soft and spun like rattan. He keeps everything in there, hooking it over one arm.

Dirk only interrupts you once, to hand you something. It looks like a lattice of bright blue material in a tube shape. Inside is stuffed to bursting with some paste stuff, with chunks of balls that remind you starkly of boba.

You take it, and Dirk taps his mouth silently.

"Bite it or squeeze it," you ask, not interested in looking like a bell-end today. Not anymore than you already have, anyway.

"Bite," Dirk says, and nudges you back into place, swimming off again.

He's headed downward, which is reassuring. You nibble at the treat idly; the stretchy outside is gummy, disintegrating as you chew it. The insides are savory like long marinated tofu or something, but with bursts of something almost cinnamony every time your teeth pop a boba. It's good, better than a lot of food you've had down here. More flavorful.

By the time you're finished with your snack, Dirk is weaving his way out of the Median. You let yourself look around again, your brain quieter now. There's plenty of mers arriving. You even see a few carrying in baskets of plants, presumably to set up in an empty shell stall. Another, in the corner, you notice they are small and tentacled, but their body is lopsided, with a few large mobile tentacles and other smaller ones that seem knotted and curled up on themselves.

They have supplies too, and move slowly around their teal-green ovikopos, loading up some saddlebags as the slug creature waits patiently.

You can also see, as Dirk swims by, the ovikopos up close. They have even more feathery feelers than Snug (who is maybe named Strider, you think?) and a more sleek harness than Dirk's.

But more alarming is the ovikopos' chest; it's _bulging_ , three large round bumps shoving against its skin in a way that-- that looks bad enough that you gasp in quiet fear.

Dirk slows, and looks back. He sees you staring, and follows your gaze. "Hrm, what? You're distressed."

"Is that ovikopos okay?" you ask quickly, pointing. "It's got things pushing out its chest."

"What? Oh." Dirk hums, low and amused. "It's fine. That's its job."

"But…" you crane your head to look as Dirk continues swimming away. "It looks painful."

"It's not. We made sure. Hey." He reaches back and taps your hip. "Hold on."

Reluctantly, you shimmy back around and reaffirm your grip on Dirk's fins. As soon as you're ready, his tail starts to really stroke, wide arcs propelling him out of the crowds and sharply upward, along the outside of the tower and away from the Median.

Tucking close, you bump your nose against Dirk's matte blue skin. "What was wrong with it?"

Dirk hooks one hand under your bent knee as he ascends almost in a direct line, up and up. "There's nothing wrong with it, Jake," he says, a little chiding. "It's carrying eggs."

You gasp. All at once the idea of _baby ovikopods_ hits you, and its just about the best idea you have ever heard. "Sorry, I had no idea! They look a lot like sea slugs back on my world, and I'm pretty sure they don't do eggs? I could be wrong. Not like that though, either way!"

"Not…" Dirk snorts. "Not ovikopos eggs. Mer eggs. Was that not clear?"

You nearly let go, you are so thrown. Dirk lets out a sharp vibrato, and you grab on again. "Did you just say the ovikopos is holding mer eggs?"

"Yes? Yeah, that's how its done."

Thinking about this is a fucking conundrum. "I think I've ballsed up some understanding here again. Are they… mers? Or of _the People_ or whatever?"

"No, they're ovikopos. It's what they do for us. They hold eggs until they are ready to be hatched, so we don't have to. It was, uh…" Dirk slows just a little, still aiming up. Beyond him, you can see his floating sphere, and feel a rush of relief. Hell's fucking bells, you are fucking tired. "Decided a long time ago that we needed carriers that would keep our eggs safe, so we wouldn't have to carry them, because it was really inconvenient to do it ourselves. We had these steeds already, and they were very loyal and fairly smart, so…" He shrugs. "Maybe not smart enough, depending on who you ask, but doesn't matter now."

"Okay," you say slowly, percolating that for a moment. "You… reproduce with eggs. But you put them… in another creature until they're ready?"

"Yeah. My ovikopos carried my egg and Dave's. When we hatched we inherited," he says the name again, _Strider_ , but when he says it, it comes layered with such affection and emotion, the word itself is nearly shaken to bits and lost in the tide. It's lovely, though, and you hide a smile.

"Right, okay. But before you… didn't do that?"

"Right. Before, during reproduction, one of the couplers would have to carry the eggs. From what I understand, it was incredibly fucking annoying. They're pretty heavy, and you can't get any work done. For smaller people like me, it'd be fairly uncomfortable," Dirk explains.

You hook your chin on his shoulder and hum. "So… to avoid carrying your own eggs, you… spliced your seahorses to do it instead?"

"Splicing is not the right procedure. We changed them. But outside semantic shit, yeah, that's about right."

Laughter bubbles up in you, and you shove your face against him, giggling. Holy shit. They are just bloody fucking bonkers, all of them. Grafting on neat and shiny new things they want, building jellyfish to be translators, and doing what you can only assume is either magic or gene therapy on their steeds to avoid carrying their own young. If you could put aside your deep abiding fear for a moment, you'd love to tell Jane all this, let her know just what lives down here out of her sight under Alcyone's surface.

Oddly, you feel Dirk pat your leg. "Yeah," he says. "I know."

That's somehow even funnier. You keep giggling, for longer than the humor of the situation really warrants? After you trail off, Dirk's big sphere home is floating just a few feet away. "I hate to be the bearer of dumb news, but there's a chance I'm too knackered to think in a straight line."

"Yeah, I kind of know that too." It's warm and indulgent, making you feel even better about the whole thing. You rub one of your jellycaps against him, and sigh, closing your eyes as you're carried into his home again.

Once you're safely inside, you go lax and let Dirk swim away from you, leaving you floating in his home, just a few feet above the curved floor.

Snug Strider lifts their big doofy head, feelers waving at you. They must recognize you, because they slide forward and bump their head against your foot. Their feelers tickle.

Dirk seems to be putting his goods away. You could carry yourself to the bed, but first you are _dreadful_ curious, and swim down towards Snug. They mouth at you in a friendly, welcoming sort of way. You push them back and instead look down.

Snug's front chest area is smooth. But with new knowledge aforethought, you stroke your palms over them, searching.

You find it halfway down their chest; there's a seam, so subtle it blends almost perfectly with their colorful skin.

Very, very gently, you pull against it with your nails. And it lifts, just a bit, just enough to make you gasp and let go, the line disappearing again into Snug's skin.

This soft weird clydesdale of an oceanic steed carried around Dirk and Dave, kept them safe. That's… amazing. Also very strange.

You yawn wide enough your jaw cracks, and reach up to stroke Snug's feelers. They lean into your chest, blessed squishy somatic pal. You get your fingers in there and pet them cheerfully.

It'd be very easy to just hang out with Snug, showering them with affection mindlessly. You're so tired, but giving the good pets certainly doesn't take up a lot of energy. If you shut your eyes, you might sleep upright, just like this.

As your eyes are drifting shut, you might well do that, but for the…. something that rouses you just a little. Something warm like a heated marble rolls around your head, stirring you up slowly. Bracing on Snug, you look around, to find where the feeling came from.

Dirk is halfway up along one of the struts, his spokes bright. They dim again as soon as you meet his gaze. "You gave the impression you were tired," he says.

"Totally cream-crackered." You kick off and swim up, taking his hand when he holds it out to you. When he pulls you the rest of the way, you wind up right in his arms, again, which has never been a hardship. Being this close to him reminds you of the Median, and your little, erm, freak out. You reach up and tap a jellycap. "That was some trick."

"Thank you," Dirk says, which isn't precisely what you meant, but now he strokes his tail along, carrying you up.

When its in reach, you grab the edge of the conchbed, and wait for Dirk to situate himself. In the few seconds it takes for him to wiggle into place, you yawn three more times.

Being beckoned to join him is a relief. You slip in with more confidence, finding a spot right next to his chest, wiggling until the anemone bedding takes loose hold of you. When you still, Dirk lowers his arm to drape over your side, his fingers flirting with your spine.

Sighing, you rub your face around the bedding. "Roxy said something. Humans are warm."

"You are," Dirk murmurs.

"That good?"

He just hums, and curls around you to kiss your temple. When you slip into slumber, it’s with a smirk on your face, fading only as your tether to consciousness wobbles and shakes and slips your grip, a long rein sliding away from your hands and leaving you to fall into a soft place.

After a night of no sleep, tucking in for an early one is perfectly fine with you. Normally getting off a decent sleep schedule would be a point of concern. Your bedtime has always loosely corresponded with the local shuttle times, just to ensure you didn't miss a trip, which could be disastrous when you're stuck in a narrow window.

But now, there isn't anything to worry about. Nothing is expected of you, outside being warm and letting Dirk pet you with his big felty blue hands. It's a vacation from all your vacations, taking lingering tension from your body that you hadn't realized was even there.

You have no concerns. Even if you try to touch the toxic-tipped spines of _Jane_ or _bunch of aliens down here huh_ or _invader_ , they don't puncture you, don't break the deep drowsy thing that is rocking you deeper into sleep. Nothing penetrates.

There is soft anemone stuff under your face. You rub against it as you move from one dreamy apparition to the next. One somnambulist vision is of deep water that is honey, so heavy as it drenches you that you can't even push against it. You dream of it swallowing you with unceasing tenderness, legs sticking in place, hips shifting against a pressure you can't break, all the way until hands clench as they drop in, and you're warm and suspended and can feel the amber beyond your closed eyes, sinking into your pores, replacing the air in your lungs.

Then you dream again, this time of wakefulness. You dream of being nestled in bed, pulled into the slight curve of the shell where its darker and quiet. In fact, everything is silent and muffled. You breath deeply, mouth parting enough for tendrils to rub against your lips faintly.

You dream that your arms are pulled over your head and looped into place, your hands floating, your fingers curling amid the stray anemone stuff. Soft. Your body moves with each sleep-deep breath you take, and your chest rubs against the bed.

You dream. Things are out of your control when you dream. There's only low simmering desire and the whims of something beyond your consciousness. You dream, and it burns with hands rubbing you. Fingertips massage your lower belly, short little circles of attention that act like a poker urging a fire to life. Once it starts, it's a conflagration through your veins, and you dream of rocking your hips and your knees being hitched apart.

When you are touched, your skin lights up with tingles, the ghost of sensation trying to possess you. It doesn't work; nothing connects, like when you dream of complicated colors and textures, how they never feel fully realized. Just tingles and pressure in the shape of a mouth along your back.

It seems like it would feel nice. You shiver and stir, trying to get your mind around it, to rouse enough to feel it.

Halfway out of the sand, you stop, and feel it pour back into the space between your ears, weighing you back down. You are heavy and dream-laden again, and sink into it with a slow sigh.

Coming out of the dream is too much effort, so you let it hold you and move you. Knees further apart, and weight against your body, not just against your spine but heft against your back, your ass, the inside of your legs. More curling around your arms, another point of contact keeping you anchored down.

Your mind slips and skids sideways into another dream. A memory of being on the beach, on your island. You're small and too curious by half and not terribly wise. You notice how if you sit by the water, the ocean sweeps in and out and moves the beach around you. It pulls from under you, and it piles up around your legs and hips. The longer you wait, the longer you let it go on just to see what'll happen, the further you sink.

Until the pressure and weight is too heavy, and you struggle to get free. Thankfully old Halley is nearby and helps you dig out.

Like an antique record skip, you tumble back into the other dream. All the muscles in your body are working in unison, tense then loose then tense again. Your head is lead and heavy against the bed, enough you can't see.

It would be a very boring dream, but it feels so good. Your knees are lifted, held up, bending your body as far as all the anemone tendrils will allow. They hold you down; you're held up; you shudder and moan as pressure tugs and plucks you open and fucks into you, the crashing tingle of dream-sensation trying desperately to Pinocchio itself into something real.

It nearly gets there, intense enough your breath hitches as something-- somethings?-- find your prostate and start rubbing in sharp relentless circles. Your hips thrust against nothing, fuck, _oh_ \--

But it falls on you again. You can't break the surface, you take a breath and it's thick and viscous, and you are too heavy to move again.

It's a dream. It's the tide holding you down with sand and the force of oceanic conquest. It's muffled quiet that drips molasses into your heavy mind until you couldn't lift it with the most ludicrous fantastical logic. But, fuck, it's good.

You are immobile, with soft cushy cords tying you down and your strength snipped, gone. All you can feel through the haze is the scorching heat in your gut that is looking for a release and thin, agile tendrils exploring your body. Each one is a brand against you, rubbing your prostate and tugging you open wider and jabbing against the soft skin behind your balls, looping _around_ your sac and your cock.

If you had the ability to open your eyes, they'd likely be rolled back into your skull. Somehow it's more potent for being locked this far down into your head, unable to break loose. Sensations echo and overlap; you can't focus on any one of them enough to sort them out and understand them, so they keep _coming_ until the hands on your stomach yank you higher and _they_ come, desperate movement that fades out like static.

You might be moaning; you can't tell through the muffle. But you're lowered back down, released bit by bit. A hand strokes up into your hair, thumb rubbing circles, and you're so fucking pleased with yourself.

You sleep.

 

* * *

 

You wake, and Dirk is not there.

This is a sour apple rotten shame, you think. When you stir and look around, you want nothing more than some morning glory. You slept deep, but you have some recollection of your dreams, and even more something in your muscles is bloody _aching_.

You grab the ends of the bed and pull yourself up or down or at the very least _out_ to look around.

Far below, Snug is still laying down in a sluggy heap, sleeping. And the luminous fish that Dirk turns 'on' to get the day going are still swimming in their circles, dim. There is no sign of your mer at all.

Maybe he's gone to get breakfast. Maybe he had an errand. He doesn't always tell you these things.

It's irritating now, and you frown as you shimmy yourself back into the shell. Cripes, you have had morning wood before, but not like this. You could build an old-timey log cabin with the hammer you're rocking. As you get ensconced into the curve of the bed, deep enough you can't see the outside, the only light is the orange glow that accompanies you all the time now, radiating from either side of your head.

Your leg bumps into your cock and you groan, rolling against the bed. One of the jellycaps holds your head up from fully resting on your cheek, and the pressure is a sparkler lit in your head.

There is no pause to think things through or consider what you're doing. Dirk's fucked off and left you unsupervised with weird alien earphones on, and they do mystifying things to the inside of your head, so you fully roll onto your side and push against the bed. With one hand, you squeeze your cock, rocking into your fist. With the other, you shove your palm against the jellycap and work it in circles.

It's so much, so fast, you cannot think. Anything approaching an idea or thought is obliterated as you shake and squirm and fuck yourself into a sobbing mess. There is no room for coherence as you focus everything you have on keeping both hands moving and taking yourself apart.

As such, it's over fast. You come, crying out, unsure how loud you're being and frankly not really caring. Down here in the dark privacy of the conchbed, it doesn't matter.

Your hands are shaking when you roll over, onto your back, and stop touching. Pleasure is ebbing out slowly, taking its sweet time. More than once, you shake all over with an aftershock. Mmfuck.

That, you think, went well.

When your afterglow fades, Dirk still isn't around.

With a much aggrieved sigh, you push yourself back to the mouth of the bed. This time, Snug has woken up and begun their busy day of chewing somatic cud. The light-fish are still out, but it's not so dark you can't do anything.

Planting your feet on the lip, you push off the bed and kick over to the bell jar. After stocking up yesterday, it's looking particularly full of mer delights. You see some of those rose-pink fruit things Roxy had, and well. Dirk did leave you unsupervised, ergo you are going to eat them. It just seems fair.

Carefully extracting them from the squeezy tube, you next locate Terrybot: sitting right in one of the hammock shelves. Hooking your arm under him, you paddle over to Snug and drop yourself down by their side. They immediately greet you with a little mouthing. Pushing them away, you scold them, "You can't eat my hair, bro, why do you keep trying?"

There is of course no answer. But they go back to chewing on seagrass. Eager to break a companionable fast with them, you start to chomp on the little berries. They taste far too sweet to be any sort of balanced meal, but you don't care.

Leaning back against Snug's soft, inviting body, you just feel _good_. Spinning Terrybot around, you boot him up without problem. His screen is the brightest light in the the house, and you flip through the films he has.

That is where you stay until Dirk returns, his telltale amber glow signaling his return even when you can't see the entry hole from here. You let your head loll back and say, "Good morning! You sure left early. Warn a fella next time, would you?"

Dirk doesn't say anything, just swims into your view.

Your good cheer evaporates at the deeply troubled look on Dirk's face. His spots are all bright, but not in a happy or confident way. He's upset. You don't even know how _you_ know that, but you certainly do.

"What's wrong, chum?" you ask, voice pitched softer, as if that will somehow make things better.

Dirk darts in closer to you and digs both hands into your hair without preamble. He pets and strokes, humming deep in his chest. You let him; you've long suspected he found it comforting.

"I didn't expect to be gone so long," Dirk whispers. "I just went out for something I forgot at the Median. Figured I'd let you sleep." He grimaces. "A courier found me. I've been summoned." Somehow, his frown deepens, like a deep gash carved in dark blue granite. "We've been summoned."

"Summoned," you repeat, equally quiet. "Who around here hurls around summons, then?"

"The Queenarch," Dirk answers in a dull tone, devoid of rich underhum. "Queenarch Rose wants to see us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mims wanted somnophilia, and i did my best


	10. the left-handed truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: this chapter has some bonus text effects.
> 
> note 2: no chapter title, i'm thinking of redoing ALL the chapter titles. sorry i'm the way i am.  
> ETA: done

A summons from this Queenarch is apparently serious business. Dirk hurries you along to get up and going. As you put Terrybot away, Dirk swims over to his workbench and messes around there. There's a hard-shelled pod he smashes between his hands, leaving an almost foamy residue that he rubs vigorously over his nudihair, then across the spots on his chest and arms, and finally against his crown glowbuds.

When he's done, you can tell there is something clearer and brighter about his seathrall, like a lantern's glass washed clean. He fingers his fins for a moment, relaying some of the overlapping gold-orange in some indescribable small way. You can't really tell the difference.

"Should I…" Your hands tense in front of you, clasping together for a second before you realize you can't do that, not with your new webbing in the way. Instead, you worry at the seaglass-y skin anxiously. "What should I do, meeting this Queenarch?"

Dirk pushes off his table and returns to you. "What should you do?" he echoes you.

"Yes, well, I mean… You're quite literally taking me to your leader, right? Say, is this the leader of _all_ mers, or just the ones in Isaura?"

"Isaura is our largest home, and Rose is leader," he tells you as he grabs Snug's harness. You drift over to pet them as Dirk settles the device in place and latches it on. Snug immediately starts fanning out their fins. "Not sure what you're asking."

You pull yourself onto Snug. Dirk takes his place over you, hands gripping just above yours. "Um, with my species, it's sort of an old… joke or adage or whatever. After first contact, we eventually want to be _taken to see your leader_ , or whatever. Actually, I'm so out of my depth there, just thinking about meeting this Queen is giving me the heebies _and_ the jeebies, if you can imagine."

Snug slugs his way to the entryway, and tips out. By now, you're getting used to the feeling of inversion, and sinking fast through the soma as you are whisked out of Dirk's home and into Isaura proper. "I'm not thrilled about it myself," he tells you. Somehow his words are perfect and crisp in your ears over the rush of movement around you. "But there's not much I can say to _prepare_ you. There is no preparing to meet Rose. She's… Rose."

The lack of title sounds significant enough for you to dial in. "Do you know her?"

"She's the Queenarch," Dirk says. "All of the People know her. And… you're asking if I'm familiar with her and yeah, I am. She sent me to observe the invaders because she trusts me with difficult tasks."

"So… friends? Are you friends?"

Dirk pauses for a significant beat. You try to look up at him, but the angle is too awkward. "I, hm. I hope so? It's hard to tell with her. Why?"

"Heebies, jeebies." Pressing closer to the harness, you look out over Snug's path. "I don't want to be a disappointment or put my foot in my mouth in front of royalty!"

"I think you misunderstand how this is going to go. The Queenarch is unparalleled in control of those downstream of her. There's very little either of us can do to divert her."

"Oh."

Snug takes a pendulum swing upward, low and then lifting higher and higher. Dirk's home is already fairly elevated over the city, so you can make a wild dark stab of an assumption for your destination. The point where the central tower of Isaura meets the cavern roof, it spreads out like an great bowl of strange stone against the ceiling. As you get closer, you can see spots of light coming from it, emanating from cracks in the stone and slicing through the soma around it like sunrays through cloud cover.

The light's not benign; by now you know how that particular color of seathrall feels against your eyes. You bend, and press your face against Snug, taking a deep breath.

Dirk reaches down and thumbs one of your glowbobbers. "Hey, you're… scared? Why are you scared?"

"Why wouldn't I be a little scared?" you ask, voice pitching embarrassingly high. "This lady sounds like a terrifying dame that I am not equipped to so much as bump elbows with!"

His hand curls around your neck, urging your head back. A brisk kiss presses against your forehead. "Calm down. It's not like that. Just… I think our meanings are getting crossed, and explaining it to you isn't helping. But it'll be fine."

The thing is, you think your definition of 'fine' and Dirk's might also be a bit crossed. But he's not worried, so you try not to be such a skittish mouse about everything.

Snug brings you to the very apex of the tower before it meets the glowing chalice above, slowing as they come in for a presumed landing. Here, you can see the tower is hollow, like down by the Median, and the archways and portholes leading inside are patently absurd in their size. It feels like more of an entryway for a starship than an ovikopos and their passengers.

But there is a soft, loamy landing area inside the tower. Snug lands hard, knocking up some green-red dust. In the same impact, a few cuddlepodes appear, flitting through the soft ground and the clouds of dust, each one a pale lavender hue as they scuttle away, petals rippling wildly.

You let go of the harness, and immediately Dirk pulls you with him. Upward.

You look up. There is an aperture there, again enormous, and again dark as pitch, reminding you of the first times you wandered into the canyon back by the Outpost. You can't bring yourself to do more than gently kick your legs as Dirk brings you along into the darkness.

"This seems rather needlessly creepy!" you whisper at him.

Dirk fucking smiles, albeit faintly. "Not a bad assessment. Now, quiet."

So, you ascend into the darkness, until it swallows around you, and is all you can see. Dirk casts his own light forward, his free hand extended. When amber flickers over a shape, you nearly freeze, nervous--

But it's just some sort of platform. Dirk grabs the edge of it before pulling you over, up onto it before he floats above you.

You don't like that he let go of your hand, but you are also grateful for solid ground. Latent monkeybrain comforts, you figure as you sit down with your legs curled around you, hands pressed to your knees.

It's silent so long, with Dirk floating over you, waiting, that you open your mouth to ask something, probably something that would make you look like an absolute lummox. But before you can execute that particularly heinous bit of gum flapping, you feel something. It's just a presence, then its a movement through the soma.

Vibration. No, a _hum_. You barely understand it as such for a long moment before it ripples and shifts with interest and bemusement, and something deep and inexplicable as a sea trench.

Then, light. Just like the hum, it comes slowly enough you only see it as it really settles in around you. There doesn't seem to be a single source, glow without origin that stirs and fills the soma around you, and over your head.

Dirk crosses his arms, and you watch as his own familiar hue is just bit into and smothered and replaced with an airy silky purple, until it has permeated even the space between you and him, casting his beautiful fins with a sheen of pale violet.

Something is above you, you realize. It's overhead, and shifting, curling, dark things in the pitch that are flirting with reality as the violet spreads with all the urgency of a fucking nightlight.

It speaks, in a voice of dead flowers and lavender honey and black treacle-sticky curiosity, "Dirk," a long languorous sigh, "you know I don't like to have to call you here. I seem to remember times when you would revel in the meeting of our minds. Now, you take the invader to the grocer and not me? A lesser Queenarch would be wounded."

"Lucky for me there is none greater than you," Dirk says with a tangled sardonic feeling in his underhum. "I got caught up. My workshop needed to be dismantled before I was detected, and I was distracted."

There is only another long low hum that seems to come from the _walls_ around you. Or, the walls you imagine around you. You can't see a fluorescent dick in this gin joint.

Squinting up, you think some shapes are resolving to more than fleeting flickers. The glow in the room is coming from long, thin spider-web lines of gleaming filament floating through the soma. There are… dozens of them, so many you can't focus on them, the seathrall rubbing against your eyes and making them cross and lose track. They are _long,_ so much so you have trouble tracking where they're coming from.

But beyond them is something more solid, and moving. The shifting pattern hits a piano line in your mind, humming with recognition. Roxy's tentacles, you realize, that's it. The uncanny nigh-impossible way they move against and over each other until you feel like you're watching a braid or knot, but it never catches.

But larger. Much larger than Roxy. You pull your legs up to your chest, staring out.

Dirk, the absolute madman that he is, flits forward, closer to whatever is lurking beyond. "There's a lot to go over, before even touching on the matter of Jake."

"Jake," the dark creature murmurs, and you feel it in your spine like a shot of freon. "It has a name, does it? Did you do that?"

"No, that's kind of what I want to bring up. They're not exactly what we assumed, given how downstream they are. We can communicate because this-- I'm getting ahead of myself." Dirk rubs his hands through his hair. "I should have prepared a report, but your summons caught me off guard. If you would permit a recess, I can go to Dave and collect--"

"That won't be necessary," the Queenarch of Isaura says, and from the shifting violet ink comes a tentacle. It's so large, you yelp, and shove yourself further back on the platform as your brain whines like a kicked dog, because _what the inscrutable shitting fuck_.

Your outburst makes Dirk jerk, half turning to check on you, so you have a front row seat to the way his eyes squeeze shut as the tentacle grabs him. It encompasses his body with two loops of its girth around him, thick and huge like a sea monster rather than any mer. You can see one of the sucker-things on the underside, as big as Dirk's chest as it latches onto him and pulls.

He's yanked out of reach, deeper into the cavern, into the mass of spider-silk seathrall. As soon as they touch him, they seem to stick, latching on, half-curling around his arms and hips and tail. A half dozen arch and bend to rest against his head, and Dirk jerks like he's been given an electrical shock.

Then, he's limp, tail hanging straight down without so much a flicker of movement, his arms only lift and bend with the pressure of the filament holding him. His amber glow is so faint you can scarce pick it out, just purple washed over him.

Beyond where Dirk's strung up like a moth that ventured to close to a web, you can see. With all the little strings busy with Dirk, perhaps their ambient fuckery has been toned down, and you can see that the ceiling of this domed room is entirely covered by the body of a gargantuan mer.

The Queenarch is another octopod, with so many powerful legs she covers every surface of the room, the tips of her tentacles stretched so far they curl lazily in the air only a few yards away from your seat on the platform. When you try to scoot to a place away from them, you find there just bloody isn't one. But her skin is dark, ink black with shifting patterns. Purple rings that move across her body before elongating funhouse mirror-style and morphing into stripes that wrap around her, then separating into polka dot spots that skitter around.

It's all very distracting from the humanoid body that is leaning down into the chamber, suspended like a chandelier. She's a giant, she could eat you in one bite, her eyes are almost big enough to reflect around her, shit, shit.

But her focus is on Dirk. He's hung in the stringy stuff that is coming from her chest, bursts of fiber optic stuff running in smart lines from her navel up to her shoulders. And behind them, she's… a softer hue. Pink-tinged lavender skin with the same felty-soft look that Dirk has. It's a wonder you didn't see her before, but somehow she blended in with the darkness.

And crowns, it seems, are universal; her head is set with what looks like a small reef, with spires of colorful coral and fans of flora. You… are pretty sure a few cuddlepodes are drifting through it like a little habitat. Okay.

She smiles at Dirk's hanging body, humming almost warmly as she does her dark magic on him. The sight of him hung and helpless like a fish strung out to dry is making something in your chest curdle and sour: a feeling of safety you've taken for granted.

If this were a film, you'd stand up and demand she let him go.

But this is not a film, and you are shaking in your metaphorical boots.

"Pl-- please," you manage in a miniscule voice.

"Wait your turn," the Queenarch says without so much as blinking, eyes still fixed on Dirk, her tone almost like an elementary teacher.

It shuts you up immediately.

You sit impatiently and watch as she does… whatever she's doing to Dirk, unable to help. The only reassurance you have is he's still breathing, deep and steady, as if asleep.

God, you wish you were asleep and this was all a very unnerving dream. Probably some mechanism to deal with your attraction to aliens by making you face some deeply significant fear reactions to the whatsit, also the old chestnut that is your fear of the dark. Yes, this dream would be great for that.

But pinching yourself does nothing, but also you've never known a situation where you pinched yourself mid-dream and woke up, so what's the point of that anyway?

Finally, the Queenarch hums, rich like chocolate mousse, and lets Dirk go. He slumps, still well out of it, and you get up on trembling legs to-- to catch him? Maybe? Just to ease him down to lay on the platform.

But as he falls softly down, a tentacle curls under his body and catches him. It's endlessly kind, the coils looping under Dirk to let him lay across them daintily. His head lolls against her, mouth parted, eyes shut and limbs lax. The very tip of her tentacle curls over his side, and she moves him away, laid out well beyond your reach.

And now she's looking at you.

You paddle backward for a fleeting moment before another of her multitudinous arms catches you. A muscled limb grabs you about the waist and with a single loop traps your legs. Your hands slap against her fuzzy-soft skin, and you gasp.

"There's something amusing about a little invader changing its mind and wanting to scamper home. Also something a little rude, I think," she tells you, pulling you away from the platform.

"I'm not an invader, I'm just a tourist!" You whip your head around to look back. "Is he okay? He's okay, right?"

"Dirk is fine. He was correct, there was a lot of information to go through. Much of it seems to be just the tip of a much larger beast. You can help me with that."

You expect to be knocked right out of your gourd the moment the filaments touch you. Instead, they just… press against you _everywhere_. Your chest, your back, your arms and legs, around your neck, and plenty sliding up the back of your skull into your hair to sort of clutch your head still. The tentacle releases you and you're the dadblasted moth now, suspended.

You wiggle around. There's very little give; it seems for every filament pressing you one way, another matches it, pinning you in place. You suck in a shaky breath and try to calm your rumblespheres or whatever.

The Queenarch leans her elbows on a little platform situation at the perfect height for her. Her chin rests on her knuckles as she gazes at you, at once detached and analytical. "Dirk is a very useful asset to the People. And… something of a friend. He's extraordinarily clever, and has an eye for detail I often think that I lack."

That… is strange. You frown up at the enormous mer lady's face as she tips her head, looking at you from another angle.

"It's important to know one's failings if one is to effectively rule, invader. And Dirk compensates for several of mine." The filaments tighten, and your arms and legs move around until you're a regular vitruvian man. "He very good at the small minutiae, but he's so often caught up in it, like sinking into silt until he's stuck and can't wiggle his way free." She holds you still again, thank god. "I have more of a broader thinking. It's important to keep an eye on the horizon, to plan for the grand designs." She smiles. It's not as cruel as you expected. "I think we suit each other rather well."

All at once, you feel the filaments waking up. The glow-- you hadn't really noticed when it dimmed, but now you sure as hell feel it as it kindles and returns. "Now, lets see where you fit in. And please, stop squirming. Given the immense power differential between us, resistance is futile."

You burst out into giggles, almost hysterical. You want to stifle them with your hands, but you can't move. You can barely string a thought together.

As the violet light casts over you and blots out everything else, you hear the Queenarch say, "Oh, I must know what made that so funny. Let's see, shall we?"

The light refracts and moves through the soma around you like a witch adding tar to her cauldron, thickening and moving through your mouth and lungs, filling you and holding you. Density rises and you drop, eyes shutting.

It's the Borg, of course. Absolutely classic villains from a human film from eons back. You watched a bunch of those films.

Films are excellent, an Earth artform that's been around since a fair shake before spaceflight. They tell stories, brilliant colorful stories, but you have to sit around for the duration. Not like those fancy bubbles of Alcyone.

Earth's the origin of the human race, as opposed to Alternia, which is the home of the Alternians, funnily enough. Bit of nominative determinism there.

Alternians are the horned grey-skinned people, and the first alien species humans met out amid the stars. The first brush with them was one hot tamale though!

Stars. The stars. You know the stars. From above the soma of Alcyone, they're just pinpricks of light, so distant they hardly matter. But you've seen them! You've seen so many things, far beyond the reach--

Alcyone, hm?

Alcyone is a curious name. Dirk has permit it because he is kind. But now you will call it Paleraphon.

In fact, there are a lot of things that are a mess in your particular mental monologue and its peculiar phraseology. An extra layer that complicates the matter, and that's saying something, given how gifted the People are with shifting through the layers and weaving them together into a coherent vision.

But this one is irritating, like a coating of bottom muck spread over something that should be clear. It would be so much easy to just wipe it away. Remove it. Take it from the top and invert it. A delicate process demanding precision and care.

Someday, you may come to appreciate this. For the moment, you feel something in your mind stir. The bedrock of your mind has not been such for some time now; something has been stashed beneath, a gentle patient other thing that has been seeded and rooted and grown like a fiddlehead, uncurling to push up through the cracks, amber gold rising from the depths of your mind.

 

Now

it

reaches

up

and

takes

hold.

 

There is a moment of pure lilac darkness that smothers you. Your eyes, your mind, your senses, your fingertips are dipped in it, until it's swallowed you whole. It's deeper than the view of space, and you are more distant, so far off from sense and coherence you can't even panic. All of it is gone.

You are stranded, a consciousness without thread to anything, for a single moment.

Then, you are put back together, reassembled, a cavalcade of disparate parts slotted back into place. You have fingers again, you can blink your eyes (even if all you see is that twice-damned purple light), you can take a deep breath, and you are Jake again.

You are so relieved to be Jake again, you sigh.

"There," Queenarch Rose says softly. "That wasn't so terrible, was it? Dirk, please relax, your little pet is fine. If I were not so generous, I would say you didn't trust me."

Now, you think as something strokes against your cheek, let's try this again.

This time it's easy, like a daydream. Your mind tips and spins like a zoetrope, the images in your mind flickering and changing with all the suddenness of the old contraption. The old starferry you rode off your homeplanet. the shuttle down to Paleraphon, the view of it from above, Jane the leader invader and domina of their enclave who wisely never set foot on the planet herself, Aradia and her lessons on soma, the view from the lido deck, the Bubble, the entire Calypso Observation Outpost, the invaders who lived there-- both human and troll, the boat that sailed over the surface of the ocean to take small bites of knowledge from the whole, explorers with no concept of depth either physical or intellectual, the stars again.

Following the path of your thoughts is impossible with someone else steering them. She wants to see more, and taking the time to try to figure out where to go is so much slower than her method: she sifts through memories, drawing her own connecting lines between thoughts.

When you stop trying to help, things move faster. Flashes of light and memory that are there and gone again. Things are much easier when you relax.

It ends, and you're surprised to have your mind handed back over. There's something new, something strange about how you fit back into your body. You look at your hands, how they move at your command. Which… of course they do? Why wouldn't they.

You stretch your fingers as wide as the webbing will allow, then close your fist.

A filament taps you directly on the nose, and you blink, snapped out of the fascinating way your hand looks in pale violet light. "There, now he's listening," the Queenarch says almost indulgently. She smiles, a sly curve of her lips. "You're done. You did very well."

"Thanks," you say, and the way your lips move feels bizarre. Reaching up, you rub your mouth.

Hands close around your upper arms and turn you around. Your balance is shot, and you flap a hand to grab hold of Dirk's upper arm. Groaning, you shut your eyes as you resettle.

Dirk's lovely felty hand cups your face, rubbing softly. You lean in happily, so braintired its like stone up there, weighing you down, and Dirk is so solid and sturdy. "Hey. Are you alright? Jake,"

"M'fine," you hum at him, and lean harder against him until he gives in and lets you slump on his chest. Draping over him, you settle in, and he grabs you under each of your thighs.

A nap sounds absolutely phenomenal right now, but the People around you continue to talk over your head.

Dirk says, quietly, "Was that necessary?"

There is a low bemused chord through the room. "Necessary? You disagree with my methods? I find myself perplexed, Dirk. You laid the foundation."

"Yeah, but…" He sighs, breath stirring through your hair. "I don't know, Rose, shit."

The Queenarch lets out another, even more resonant hum that sinks into your bones. You shiver and tuck your face closer to Dirk. "Interesting. We'll discuss this later. For now, I need to formulate a plan of action. I'm certain I'll see you later. Hopefully without the need for a summons."

"I know, I hear you," Dirk mutters, and hitches you closer. "Thank you for the generous audience, Queenarch."

She _laughs_. "Later, Dirk. We'll talk later."

And that concludes your time with the ruler of all People.

You doze all the way home, safe and kept.

 

* * *

 

Dirk has always been a fussy host, but now that you've met the Queenarch, he's an outright hybrid of nursemaid and stereotypical grandma. Not _your_ Gran, of course, who didn't go in for that sort of thing, but the ones you saw on old vids and films.

He takes you directly home and installs you against Snug's side before flitting around to get you snacks. You take the chussots because it'll make him happy, but set them to your side, to be eaten later when you're actually hungry.

"Are you alright?" Dirk plays with your hair, floating above you with both hands carded through. When he takes his hands out, he rubs them together and hums. "Wait here."

You nod drowsily and sink back. As you settle, Snug's long paddle tail turns to lay over your lap. That's just lovely, and you rest your hands on it. It reminds you of something. The wrapping you use to sleep under when you're above soma. Blankets. You miss blankets, but this is similar enough.

Dirk comes to you with a few little hard-shelled things in his hands. Smashing one pavarn nut between his palms, he lathers up and brushes foamy salt-tinged pavar into your hair, working it in through your bangs and then gradually back to the little point at the base of your skull. You slump forward to give him room to work. It leaves tingles in your hair, like mint gel, that begins to dissolve or something as he keeps rubbing it in.

"I'm gonna look bright as seafoam, aren't I?" you mumble.

"Feel better?" Dirk asks.

"If I say no will you keep on keeping on with that?"

Dirk hums, low and strong like oversteeped tea. "Let me see."

You barely move a muscle as Dirk moves you and cracks more of his spa chestnuts and cleans you up. It's not like you were particularly grimy before, but it still feels amazing to have him touching you firmly, rubbing little circles, working in his somatic magic.

When he leaves you again, you barely pay attention. Terrybot is nearby; you roll him closer to you and into your lap, for the moment just drawing little circles on him. As soon as you can gather your faculties, you'll pull up something to watch. That'll be nice. But pulling yourself together feels like trying to hold sand in your fist.

Dirk settles in with you again, holding more tools. "Hey," he says, stroking your arm.

"You're going to spoil me, there, handsome," you warn him. But you turn your arm over in his grip, because that's what he wants. And you too. Being pampered is nice. "You have really peachy lovely hands."

At that, he pauses to just rub up and down your skin. You sag back against him with a sigh.

With one hand busy being attended to, you use your other to flip through Terrybot's menus. You aren't really up for anything heavy, so you drag your thumb over your Recent menu to pull up a movie at random. Oh, you didn't finish that heist vid, did you? You pull it back up. Keanu's face is frozen in the pause until you tap the screen, and turn it back on.

As you occupy yourself, Dirk starts working with a little pointy needle tool with a ball of prismatic goop at the end. It's a tidy little stypil and he wields it confidently. First, he just pokes you. A tap here, then a second of time. Another tap, and another second.

Tap, wait. Tap, wait. You turn your head away, back to the movie, as he just pokes at you with a staggered, perfectly even rhythm.

Eventually, the feeling just vanishes, each tap softer and softer until you don't bother paying attention to it. It's so gradual, you realize a few seconds later its gone.

You check what he's doing, and there is a needle under your skin now. You don't feel it at all, and frown. His head is bowed, close to yours, as he diligently watches his own craftsmanship. As he taps the stypil, a little bump appears. It glows faint amber through your skin, even as he removes the needle.

A half inch down, he pokes in again, and makes another glowing spot. Moves the stypil again, and another. In sixty seconds, there's a perfectly straight line of them. When he's done, he slides his finger over the line.

"What fish is going to eat me now then?" you ask quietly.

He blinks at you, confused for just a moment, then snorts. "Are you planning to wander off?"

Not at all. The thought twists like a snake, swallowing up your fear of Jane and what awaits you back at the COO, what the hell your absence has done to your _audience_. It's a choking pit in your throat, but it… sinks and falls, the anxiousness devoured by something else.  It offers you a reprieve. You take it.

You clear your throat and look back at Terrybot's screen. "Not at the moment. I'm watching a movie."

Dirk hums and turns your arm a bit, starting to add more glowdots to you.

Slowly you try to remember where you are in the film. In the heist itself, obviously. It's very hard to follow, honestly, you assume because you weren't paying much attention the first time, and now you've forgotten the careful machinations of the team before the whole gig pops off.

You scrobble all the way back to the start, letting the title sequence run through. As the rising action begins, you really try to follow what's happening. Why did you pick this movie? You sort of wanted to dial out and just listen to some jabber as Dirk doted on you a bit. Now, it's like trying to understand speech through water. Which, soma isn't like that.

You shake your head as if to dislodge something, and flick through the options. There. Subtitles.

Tidy lettering appears in double rows at the bottom of your screen. Normally that's enough; you know a few languages and can understand two troll invader dialects, but there's plenty you haven't a clue of, so having good old English text auto-generated for every vid in the galaxy helps immensely. It'd be a tragedy if you couldn't watch _everything_ on the market just because you don't speak in enough tongues!

But maybe you're more tired than you realize. Reading the text and listening to the actors is giving you a headache. It's so much, all of a sudden, and you shut your eyes to rub them with your free hand.

Try again. You stare at the text and it… you know it. Keanu is explaining the layout of the galactic yacht they are going to hit. It has seven floors that need to be hit consecutively, hence the need for a 40-person team if they are going to successfully rescue Danny Ocean's descendant before her brain is scanned for blackmail info.

But it's weird. Like you're reading everything in the wrong language, one you _know_ but not your first one.

Dirk touches a finger against your glowcap. "What's wrong? Is it hurting?"

You turn and look down at what he's doing. There are more dots, carefully spaced, some nudged closer together than others, creating a delicate, subtle effect. In the dark, it'll look like a real treat.

"No, I don't feel a lick of it," you tell him. "I'm just…" You glance up at him, at his luminous amber eyes. He meets your gaze almost eagerly, his finger trailing down your cheek, cupping your jaw. "Feeling discombobulated."

"I was worried about that," Dirk mutters, humming sourly. "She loses perspective sometimes, it's turned into a mess before."

You shut your eyes tightly, then open them again. "Does… she? I don't think…"

"No, she emphatically fucking does. Put that away for a moment, come here."

You pause Terrybot and roll him away to rest in the seagrass. Dirk puts his tools away and tugs you in, until you shift and float to settle with your legs over his tail, Snug's own tail still cupped around your back. It's plum wonderful, and about as cozy as you can imagine. You fit in under one of Dirk's arms, and tuck your hand into his soft fins.

"It was Rose's idea to turn our chromatirs into the ovikopos," Dirk tells you, like imparting a secret.

She… what? You squint up at him; his fingers stroke drowsy loops against your jellycap. "What's that mean? Not sure I'm hip to what you're laying out."

Dirk smiles. "I… you speak a little differently now… It's, uh… Anyway, right." He takes a breath, schooling his expression back to something placid, his glow calming a little. "She was the one who came up with the idea to make the chromatirs into egg carriers, to tweak the genetics and add the pouch to them."

"Right, I found the one on Snug. So you don't get hurt hauling around your eggs now, right? That's seems damned bright, if a bit weird to me. Barring a few special circs, we do live birth, though the Alternian invaders' process is quite a bit more esoteric," you tell him, even as you rest your cheek on his chest. Soft. Nice.

His mouth tugs up into a smirk, wry as brown bread. "Which went great, obviously."

That is some strong sarcasm for one of the People. You didn't realize they had sarcasm. "Did it not?"

"It's sustainable now, but at first?" He pats Snug's side. "We love our ovikopos, right? They're part of us, our homes and lives. But they're also not very smart. Usually the case with downstream creatures, present company excluded." His hand slides off Snug, and moves to rest on your leg. "Lost some clutches to… stupid avoidable mistakes."

Your mouth drops open. "You _lost_ \--"

"That was few generations ago. Mine was the largest yet since we're learning how to better take care of them and make the system work. But still, it was a hard blow, and Rose spearheaded the whole idea."

"Why didn't you just go back to the other way, if it was such a problem?"

Dirk lifts his brows at you, humming with velvet affection. "How well do you think Rose admits mistakes?"

You've only met the Queenarch once, and already you can feel the answer like it's a chip of ice in your grey matter. "Well… um, holy shit?"

He tucks your hair back off your face, and your face floods with heat at how tender it is. "As I was saying. She could've been more gentle."

Swallowing through the forming lump in your throat, you ask, "Like you?"

Dirk freezes, eye widening at you and hand stilling by your cheek. "Uh. I…" His spots flicker and illuminate, pulsing. You think that's how the People blush. "I had a point to all this."

"It didn't hurt," you tell him. "I just feel like…. everything is a little cocked up and tilted."

"That'll… pass. It's like when you know a path to a specific place in daylight, then have to do it during the night. You still know it. The route is just not as familiar yet."

That makes sense at least. Besides, there's nothing to worry about. "I sound different?"

"You're… speaking now. Before, I was sort of… reading you, through the seathrall. Your vernacular is a little odd."

"You know, I've heard that before," you admit with a smile. He doesn't seem to know what to say to that, glowing with more pulses of amber. It's easy to hide your grin against him, and he's just as happy to pet your hair.

You figure your movie can wait a little while. This place you've found yourself in is so comfortable.

 

* * *

 

Later, you eat a whole pod of hauvan and some pieces of besia until you are full enough to feel heavy from it. You go to bed, and drag your fingers through the accent fins at Dirk's hips until he opens up and fucks you. It's deep and flowing like a river, tendrils stroking in and out of you in overlapping waves as Dirk clenches his hands in the bed and shoves against you over and again.

It's good, and better when he lays across you, tugging you down deeper into the shell to curl up, his hand on your belly. You fit there, and drowsily hum at him, sweet and longing and content, kept small and beloved in a place you could easily belong. You slot into place, and feel the way your hum of molasses warmth finds echo in Dirk as he sleeps, reverberating right back through you.

You close your eyes, and relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queenarch Rose. She Bigg. Also she is staggeringly powerful. People on the Discord wanted me to rank the seathrall power of Alcyone for basic ref.
> 
> Let's use a 0 to 100 scale. Roxy is around a 95. Dirk is about an 85. Dave is an 80. All of the mers are at least a 70 or above.  
> Most ovikopos are around 40-50. The fleet of jellyfish Jake got mesmerized by early in the fic were prob a 15-20.  
> Humans and Alternians are between 5-20, depending on the person.  
> Queenarch Rose is a 140.
> 
> That is the sort of power differential we're dealing with. The kind of power that lets you, for example, take an alien invader and invert their brain and shove a mer dictionary in there.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is SHORT comparatively speaking, but next chapter: plot plot plot plot plot. Gotta earn that soft bad end.


	11. penumbral ultimatum

There are a few days of calm, and then it's time to leave.

You know it's a different type of outing from the harness Dirk straps onto Snug. There's more than just some handles; it's a real saddle, or what passes as one for the People, a curved scoop set low along Snug's back with a harness and reins. Dirk sits in the scoop with you across his lap, and steers Snug with one hand in the reins. The ovikopos swims with such speed, their ribbon fins stretched out to what you assume is full width, that you wish you had some goggles or something. It's like wind shear through your hair.

Tucking down, you look out around you. To Dirk's left is Roxy, who has what you can only think of as a chariot. The massive shell of her selotir rockets along, dragging her woven basket. She grips the support lines in her fists to lean out and look around the nautilus-swirled creature. Her steed is the head of the party, leading everyone along through the enormous sequoia forest of calcified mushroom towers, a curved throw out from Isaura.

With you are other People riding their own ovikopos, a few doubled up. Bringing up the rear, following behind because of its slower movement, is an asdastir. It's bloody enormous to you, the weird amalgamation of the sort of head torpedo of a squid with the limbs of mutant starfish, all bastardized as if brought to life by an artist being fed descriptions of the thing through a shitty earpiece. Its great arms pulse open and closed, and jets of soma rush out of it, pushing it along.

The pilot guiding it is a smallish fellow clinging to its head with just his tentacles. You haven't any clue what sort of daredevil shenanigans they get up to in their spare time, but you're not a fan.

You pull your feet in, curling up into a ball. Dirk's hand settles on your shoulder, which is reassuring.

Even as it's being set in motion, you don't know much about The Plan, outside the way Roxy said it with such conspicuous capitalization. She was briefed by the Queenarch, then briefed everyone else. Not you, though.

Ergo now all you can do is stare out around your entourage, at the falling shadows through the canopy of mushroom tops. You sort of know the flavor of color now, and are pretty sure it's late daylight cutting through the soma. Something that heightens the blues, you think, weirdly enough.

It's not too distant from the many times you've sat by the window and watched the galaxies go by on your way planetside or to some resort. The sights slowly transform from the rocky mushforest to tangles of grasping kelp that seem to snap at the tails of every ovikopos and rider, then to a valley swooping down. The slopes leading down seem to be made of different types of sponges, a bowl of spring colorful clusters.

Roxy slows, and thus so does everyone else. "Distance? What's the triangulation from here?"

A largish whale-tailed rider circles around Roxy as she consults with something resting on the saddle of her ovikopos. "Three-point-seven from the invader hub."

Roxy hums loudly, reverberating through the soma around you all. She pushes out of her basket and attaches her suction-y limbs to her steed's shell, wiggle-ripple-walking up the side to reach the top and look around.

"It's far enough, Roxy," Dirk calls to her.

"More worried about the other thing, being _too_ close to 'em. But… I don't think there's a better spot near here." She presses her knuckles into her hips and turns in place. "Let's set up here. Find spots for _everything_ , and if that asdastir isn't gonna fit, tell me quick!"

Dirk swishes the reins, and Snug swims off, towards the spongey wall of this valley. Around and over you, the rest of the People scatter similarly. Roxy takes her spot near Snug, her giant steed settling a few yards away.

"What's out here then?" you ask Dirk as you dismount from Snug. Gripping Snug's loose squishy body, you pull yourself out of Dirk's lap, freeing him up to flow out of the scoop with a beat of his tail.

"Nothing. That's kind of the point. We're a safe distance from Isaura, but within the range of the invaders. Or, that's the hope." Dirk reaches his arms up, wrists together, and stretches, his whole body giving a brisk shake. "How do you feel? Need a snack or something?"

You're too full of butterflies for that. Shaking your head, you pull yourself along with your webbed hands, over to a mound of teal sponge. Tapping it, it doesn't try to eat you or sting you or kill you instantly. So, you settle there.

The sponge sort of cups and gropes you in untoward ways. You ignore it and watch Dirk move to help Roxy as she tips over her big basket. There are tools and doohickeys and whatsits galore in there. She shoves a pile of capsules into Dirk's arms, filling them while her tentacles snatch up more kit and gear. "Where are we gonna stash all this?"

Both of them swim around, looking over the sponge slope. Roxy uses a spare limb to pat your hair as she sails by.

"Maybe should've figured that out first," Dirk admits, and returns to you. "Can you hold these?"

"Oh, sure!" You open your arms and let him set all the capsules there, piled up high until one is tucked under your chin and another rests balanced against your cheek. This is… silly, so you just cross your legs and lower the round containers into your lap.

Each one has a nigh-invisible jellyfish inside, just floating around. When you tap the surface, they twirl lazily.

Dirk runs his hands over some of the sponge boulders. His crown spokes illuminate to their full brightness, shimmering the soma between him and a peachy-yellow sponge. It seems to respond to him, but slowly, it's nubby surface shifting minutely.

"Oh good fucking glub, just cut it," Roxy groans. "I'm not gonna wait for you to thrall the fucking barely-sentient filter feeders."

The glare Dirk gives her is tart, but he relents on the shiny and retreats to her basket instead. Rooting around inside, he pulls out what looks like a machete made of that shiny coralstone stuff. He returns to the slope and drags the sharp tip along the lines where one color sponge bumps into the next.

"There, maybe?" Roxy says, pointing.

"Yeah, should work." Bracing his palm against the end of the sword, Dirk shoves forward, driving it into the cleaving point. It sinks in, then stops abruptly.

With some finesse and shoving the blade in at other points around the boulder, Dirk pulls one of the sponges out. Dropping his sword, he works his shoulder under the mass of it and pushes it, up and into the soma. It floats like a ball thrown in low grav, arching up and up, then drifting away a few more yards, then down to the ground softly.

"Gonna need that," Roxy remarks dryly.

"I know, Roxy." He sighs as he pushes into what remains under the sponge. It's some sort of delicate rocky stuff. When he reaches in and shoves it, it crumbles like cheap chocolate chip cookies. "If you want to assist, we can knock out enough space here."

"Aw." Roxy gives you a wink before joining him and starting to apparently knock loose and carve out a hideaway under the sponge hill.

For your part, you hold the little jellies and sit put. Around you, the other People are conversing about the environment. Many take the harnesses and saddles off their ovikopos, and settle them in around the valley. Everyone seems to know what to do, in a very industrious sort of way.

You wiggle around, and grimace as your sponge seat squeezes you back.

Eventually, Dirk takes the capsules from you and whisks them into the hiding spot. Roxy does that sort of octopus squishing thing to heave herself back out, and ripples over to you. "Hey, 'pode."

"Hi," you say.

"You doin' okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just sort of waiting for… whatever." You give her a faint grin. "Did Dirk not have another sitter lined up, or something?"

"Pfft, nah. As if half of Isaura wouldn't be thrilled to keep an eye on you."

"And Dave," Dirk says distractedly.

"Yeah, Dave would put up with you for a bit, I'm sure." She pats you. "No, our cunning and brilliant Plan requires one top tier invader human, and you're it!"

"Oh." You pull up your knees, and wrap your arms around them. "I'm not even well certain what we're doing out in the somatic boonies like this. What… what do I need to do?"

Instead of answering, Roxy turns and looks at Dirk. His tail is flicking as he shoves more gear into the little hiding spot, but when he about-faces, he catches her gaze. "What, now?"

"Might as well," Roxy says. "I'm going to make sure everyone's set. You handle your 'pode." With an inky ripple, Roxy propels away, towards the other People, voice lifting to toss around orders. "Incognito, do you all know what that means! Space out the ovikopos more so it looks natural, and that spot for the big buddy isn't gonna work! The invaders aren't stupid, they're gonna see it!"

While she talks to the asdastir's rider, Dirk pulls you up, into him. He pats your leg, and you hitch it up, around his hip, then the other, until you are held secure against him.

"If everything goes well, we'll get a look at more of the invaders. The Queenarch learned plenty from you, and it was instrumental in her plotting, but…" Dirk bumps his forehead against yours with a hum, then leans back again. "You only knew so much, so."

"Well, again, I'm just the tourist," you point out. "What was she expecting, the keys to the kingdom or whatnot?"

"No, but that's what we're doing here. We want a little more information, but as safely as possible. Right now, the fact they don't know Paleraphon is inhabited is a massive tactical advantage. We don't want to lose it."

"Makes sense," you murmur. Just over your head, you see his crown buds glowing more fiercely. You don't worry about it; at this point, it just sinks into you like a stone through syrup, falling steadily but quickly.

Your eyes lid a little, and you breathe out slowly.

Minutes slide by, also like a stone coated in syrup. At some point, Dirk glances around, then leans in to press his lips against your brow, which is lovely as a sunrise. You rest your forearms on his chest and hang out there, peachy keen on the whole thing.

"Is he all set?"

You blink up at Roxy, where she's leaning over Dirk's shoulder to look at you. "Hi."

"Hey, Jakepode," she replies with a smile.

Dirk strums his thumbs over your cheeks. "Yeah, he's always ready, in a sense."

"Huh, neat." She reaches out to catch your chin, and tilts your head back just a nudge, aiming up a little more deliberately to look at Dirk's amber lanterns. "Is that because Rose, or because the amphoria?"

"No way to be sure. We need a wider test pool and more precise observation of effects rather than…. what I did."

"Right, right, later. Hey, Jake?" Fingers stroke your cheek. "Do you hear me?"

Nodding is out of the question, and speech is a little… difficult to dredge up without direct intervention. Much easier to float here and shut your eyes slowly. The light breaks in, stealing through your eyelids. You know how to hum though, and give an affirmative one.

"Such a good boy," Roxy simpers. Her hand drops away. "Before we do this, I wanna be deadass sure The Plan is gonna work. Okay, Jake?"

You hum again.

"Good. So I need you to affirm just one vital piece of information for me."

One finger touches your neck, running over the half-inch span of your airator.

"Tell me how this works, 'pode."

* * *

The jellycaps haven't really bothered you in a long time. The initial moment when Dirk put them over your ears was tingly and strange, no doubt about that, but since then you have… enjoyed the perks that came along with them more than once. There was the erosion of the language barrier between you and the People, much appreciated. There was also, of course… other benefits.

Now, as you sit by yourself up on the ridge overlooking the sponge valley, you are more aware of the jellycaps than ever before, and certainly more than the times you've surreptitiously used them as a marital aid, or whatever. Instead of the warm distant psuedo-sensation that kicks up to a happy internal stroke when you rub the cap, there is true pressure. You can _feel them_ in your ear canals, and… and further, so far it doesn't actually make sense to you? Surely anything shoved that far into your skull would be tickling your brain, but--

But nothing. You try not to think directly at it, because it makes something uncomfortable and sticky-hot flood your veins. The point is, now, there is pressure. This is of course for your own good. Dirk touched his fingers to the caps and adjusted them to expand and fill out the space in your head.

This is going to protect your delicate ears from the sonar pulse. It's only for a few moments, and as Dirk told you, it's important you aren't harmed doing this. If The Plan was going to hurt you, it was unacceptable. Simple as that.

You take a deep breath, shuddering. More than anything, you want to reach up and rub the caps, as if you could just shimmy them around and adjust them to bother you less. But you aren't allowed and will keep your hands off them.

Hands gripping the pointy seagrass around you, you turn and glance around. It seems like everyone is at the utmost readiness. The ovikopos are spread out and settled behind solid stone to help them with the blast. The People are safe under the protection of their spongey hideaway. The enormous scary asdastir is out of your line of sight, but presumably ready and in range.

Turning back around, before you is the open seabed. Distant mountains and alien fauna and glowing carpets of reefs. Presumably, further, the Calypso Outpost.

Roxy tried to give you a little knife for this. You explained it wasn't necessary.

All you have to do is reach back, follow the smooth, slightly raised line of the airator until you reach the subtle groove back there.

Your index finger finds the spot.

Closing your eyes, you apply pressure.

And for a second, you feel like you have exploded. The soma around you _shakes_ and jumps like a startled cat, the world itself seeming to lift and shudder around you. It coalesces into a violent, deafening _BWOMG_ , erupting around you so hard every inch of your body feels slapped.

You curl around yourself, fetal and rolling onto your side with a cry. Or, you think you're crying. You can't tell, everything is so silent. The pressure in your head thrums and remains lodged in place for a long moment. Then, thank the fucking stars, it settles and softens, the muffle fading.

You stroke your hands over your face, pulling at your hair and skin, trying to dislodge the awful aftershocks of the blast. Jaw hurting, you realize you're clenching your teeth hard. Rubbing circles into your jaw until it unlocks takes a few minutes. But it happens.

Shaken in a dozen ways, you push yourself up to sit again, panting. Everything feels like struck metal, and you just want the lingering shiver out.

The jellycaps resettle to their former position. You sigh.

Then they warm and glow, and you feel your body go lax. Every parcel of tension in you is clipped, neat and tidy. Balance toppled, you sink onto your back, arm over your head, feet lax and unresponsive to your command. It's time to be still. Visible, but still. You let your head loll and your breathing be corralled into something steady and deep. You're calm. All you have to do is be still.

The soma overhead is shifting with the dying light, the blues draining out. Blush hues wax in as the moons rise to take over the sky, recoloring the ocean with their ascent. Laying here, looking up at the surface, you can even see the moons creep up into perigee, large lamplights shimmering through the ocean.

It is peaceful. You could take a nap here. But you shouldn't, of course.

Forcing your eyes open, you try to look around. There's… soma, and a few tall fans of coral nearby. Some of them are listing to the side. Oh, the sonar alarm may have hurt them. Well, shit, you hope everyone was out of the blast radius. Aren't aquatic and thus probably somatic creatures more susceptible to damage like that? You hope you didn't balls any of this up.

It's quite some time before you detect movement. Off in the uncharted lands of your periphery, you think it's just a shadow, a trick in the shifting light. They are plentiful at this weird in-between time of day.

But the shadow remains, and in fact seems to cross from the corner space, becoming more real as it drifts above you, like something coming into frame on a vid. It sharpens like the right lens sliding into place. Once your attention catches on it, you can't shake free, like cat hair on a Christmas sweater. It clings and pulls, and you follow the shadow.

The shadow tucks into a more concrete shape. Anyone living knows the thrown fork shape of a Crockercorp vessel. It's bow is spiked dramatically, and in a way that seems very counterproductive to you, honestly.

The surface is so far away, it still seems small, like a toy boat. Nothing worth fretting over.

Then, the soma breaks around the boat, as something drops into the water. Three somethings, coming down.

Even through the reassuring hum of calm pressing on your mind, you feel your heart rate pick up. This, you don't like this. They are very close, and you can't move. Dirk wouldn't give you over for the sake of The Plan, would he? But, he also has to follow the Queenarch's orders. Did _she_ decide you were expendable? No, no, no.

The muscles in your back tense, as if you were going to sit up. You can't shove yourself up through the gentle but dictatorial hold on you as it keeps you laying still.

The figures coming down through the soma resolve. Two trolls, one human, all in Crockercorp red and white.

And huh, it's been a dog's age since you wore a stitch of anything, hasn't it? Hm.

You can see the preserver one of the trolls is brandishing, ready to clap it onto any open span of skin they can reach on you, to inflate it and hoist you up. If they take you away-- you can't even finish the thought. It's too much, worse than any slasher film you've watched through your fingers.

When it changes, it's all at once and everywhere. The paralysis leaves your body like it was never there, and you can move again.

A circuit's been completed, and a switch is flipped. You roll over onto your front and wrap your arms around your head and squeeze your eyes shut, as quick as you can.

Even so, you still see peeks of the sheer blinding brightness through the gaps by your elbow, around your shoulder. If you have survived an explosion of noise, you are now weathering an explosion of blinding light. It's warm and cloying, blues and pinks and vermilion. They crash into each other, never _mixing_ , just flicking like a strobe from one to the next.

They tug at you, making you want to roll back over, to show your belly and soak in the colors. You screw your eyes tighter shut and ignore the clinging way the pink in particular tries to hook you. No, no, nope, no thank you, you're not interested and are accepting no solicitors!

Everything is a little screwy in your head. You cling to the sort of prime directive, to close your eyes and don't look at the light.

You jerk and whimper when something touches you. Then, felty hands stroke your shoulders, and you would know that touch through sleet and rain and what have you. You hum at him, certain it's about as melodic as a smashed violin but not caring.

Dirk takes hold of your upper arms and pulls you, right off the ridge to drop below, into the valley. Shaking, you grab his shoulders and hold on.

"What was that? What the actual friggin' hell was that?" you say, probably too loud, right into his ears. Or, ear-analogues. No, gills. Shit. You push back against his hold to look him in the eye.

Dirk cups one of your jellycaps, then the other. Lingering pressure eases, and you blink; you hadn't even noticed that. This is much better, land's fucking sake. "The Plan, apparently," Dirk says, and doesn't sound thrilled.

The pain drains out of you, either because you're safe again or because Dirk took care of it. Now, you twist to look back. "What's that? Could I have the bulletpoints to this Valentine's Day mess?"

Dirk's brow furrows, and he shakes his head. "Right."

He swims up, over the ridge again, just far enough to place his hand on its edge to steady himself. You wiggle around to do the same, and watch the show.

First, the unimportant part: All three of the rescue team is being swiftly subdued. Roxy is in the mix, coiling around one of the trolls like a staticky scarf right out of the dryer. Her tentacles curl around their shoulders, their arms, their neck, and she holds them by their thick curly black hair until they have no choice but to stare into her. Every sharp stripe and line on her body is _neon_. "Glowing" seems a wholly inaccurate term for the sunbeam of pink that shines out of her and washes over the Alternian invader. Around her, other members of your little team have arrested the other rescuers similarly, radiant and drowning the invaders into slack jawed silence.

But that barely matters. It's window dressing to the fact the massive asdastir is rushing the boat above, its rider clinging to its side and… and humming to it loudly and _cheerfully_ , you can't help but think of them as the People's own Knievel.

Their mighty steed latches onto the boat's underbelly with its starfish arms, and anchors. Like a child playing with a plastic toy in the bath, it shifts the boat around, to and fro, as if testing its hold on it.

The rider pats the smooth head of the asdastir, then throws themselves out of the soma and up, out of sight.

Ten seconds later, another human plummets into the ocean, inverted and paddling in naked confusion.

You watch all this happen, and take a slow breath. "Huh." Deep down, there is something that stirs, restless for a moment. Then, it settles again, unperturbed. _You_ are unperturbed. "Are we taking them with us?"

"No," Dirk says quietly. "This is… reconnaissance. Shouldn't take long."

It really doesn't. The invaders all go limp and pliant in the hands of the People, and everyone carries their captives over to the ridge. Dirk urges you onto his back, and you all swim over to the little hideaway that he cut from the sponge slope.

All the invaders are tied up with some strappy bandage substance that reminds you of the stuff Dirk used on you when he took your blood. That was… such a long time ago, it seems.

Roxy and one of the other People begin popping capsules, extracting the jellycaps inside and pushing them through the soma to the others. "Dirk, want to help?"

"I'm good," Dirk says, and Roxy cackles at him. She doesn't press. "Remember, everyone, you need to put in both of the amphoria yourself, so split 'em up."

All four invaders sit spaced out on the smoothe floor of the valley. In short order, each of them are wearing the same glowbobbers you are, but each a different hue, matching the seathralls around them. You can see the way the seathrall, well, enthralls them, how they track the movements of their match like sunflowers tracking light.

Dirk pats your hip. "I should help. Are you okay?"

"Completely copacetic, all systems nominal," you tell him quietly. "Or. Maybe running low on the fuel."

Dirk nods, and sets you up to sit on the slope again, this time on a slightly less lecherous sponge mound with some chussots. Then, he hauls a satchel over to the group and hovers around Roxy.

She has one of the Alternian invaders under thrall, staring up at her like she's a dream. You… definitely remember that feeling, the first times you dealt with Dirk and his altogether. It was enough to dumbstrike a fellow.

As Roxy stares into their eyes, Dirk unpacks little tools from his bag. A container of bubble study dust, a funnel you remember from when it was jabbed into your arm, little sharp things.

You clear your throat and let out a hum until Dirk and Roxy glance at you.

"Sorry," you say, "Dunno if you've already got all your ducks in a basket on this, but if there's no one up there to man the comms on the ship and it goes too long without touching base with the rest of the invaders, another will likely come. Communications are trash on Paleraphon but I think we're pretty close to the COO?"

Both of them frown, sharing a look. "Okay," Roxy says. "Shit, well."

Dirk taps his finger on the troll's shoulder. "We'll just do an exam on this one. We have information on the human invaders from Jake, so--"

"Yeah, yup, yeah." She nods quickly, then grabs her quarry by their hair again, locking eyes again. "Everyone, move fast!"

Obviously most of what they're doing goes right over your head. But, that is what the chussots are for. You peel their thin outer shell off them and pop each one in your mouth. Chewing around the pit, you spit each out into the soma, seeing how far you can send them.

One happens to hit Roxy's tentacle. She doesn't notice, but Dirk gives you a look, his brows lifted, crown spokes twitching. You hum apologetically and aim elsewhere instead.

What seems to be going on is the speed demon version of the examinations Dirk did on you when you met him, those first days in his workshop compressed. Also, all clothes seem to stay on, which you are a little relieved by. But Dirk takes samples of the invader's skin and blood and, when Roxy moves out of the way, paints glittery dust over the places where they diverge from you. This one must be a highblood, with their own gills and fins. Roxy badgers Dirk to take samples of the horns, but Dirk grunts and refuses. "Hard to hide that, we'll get it later."

"Don't you want horns, Dirk? I think even the color would look pretty great on you."

"Not now, Rox," he mutters, and paints his lips with bubble dust. When he's lacquered up, he hands the jar down the line, and all the other People do the same, each blowing their own bubbles.

Roxy blows her own as she swims around, humming into the glimmering sphere and giving you a wave. Without pausing, she clicks her fingers and points to the snacks piled on your thigh.

You give her a few, and she lifts them as if to take a bite, only to stop and narrow her eyes at her bubble. You can't help but snicker.

One of the People finishes with their human captive before anyone else. The human sways, eyes shut, as if asleep. The octopoded daredevil carefully takes hold of the jellycaps and pulls them, slow but constant, until--

You stop looking, feeling queasy at the sight. When you glance back, the jellycaps are floating free, returning to their translucent hue. "This one's ready," he says.

"Go put 'em back," Roxy says. "And give them the collar thing, the _airator_."

He nods, and wraps an arm around the human, swimming up and away with them.

Roxy and one of the others finish next, and go to do the same, presumably returning the rescue team to the boat. When they return, the last of the team is still blowing bubbles. There are four of them now, floating in the soma over everyone's heads.

"What's taking?" Roxy asks.

They hold up a finger as they finish blowing their bubble. Once it's stopped off, they nudge it away. "This one is part of the security of the invader base. I don't want to miss anything."

"Oooooh," Roxy croons, leaning in to look at them. "It would be so useful to just sort of…"

Dirk shakes his head and moves to the hiding place. "They don't know we're here. That's still going to be more useful than anything you pull from this one's head."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. All you sensible blubbers, all ruining my fun by sticking to The Plan." She follows him, rooting around in the hollow. "We'll saddle up your ovikopos, but hurry it up."

Beside the one still blowing bubbles, everyone else gets ready to depart, rounding up their ovikopos and 'tirs, bringing them in to be resaddled.

Dirk returns to you once Snug is back and takes your chin. "Hey."

"Aloha, sir," you say, looking up at him. His amber light is warm and reassuring, and you're… oddly happy none of the rescue team got any of it. Which you sort of know is a weird thought to have.

"I need you to saddle up Snug. You saw me do it at home, and… here." He focuses, and you focus back, the amber filling you up and washing in.

As it drains, there is something left behind. You know _precisely_ how the saddle sits on Snug Strider, where to tie it so the scoop won't slip. You nod. "Okay, that was pretty goddamn cool there, Dirk."

He smiles faintly, and rests the saddle near you. "Give it a shot. I need to secure the bubbles. It'd be pretty fucking stupid if we went through all this, spent our one-time bait, and then lost all the damn information before getting home."

"Right-on," you agree, and push up to get to work. "No chance for The Plan 2, Somatic Boogaloo."

Dirk stills, staring at you for a full three seconds before he shakes his head. "You're ridiculous. Every third thing you say is insensible."

"But you like it, compadre!" You smile. "I'll get Snug all set, don't you worry your pretty head."

Dirk just hums back at you, perhaps at a loss for words, and returns to his own work packing up.

With everyone collaborating to the solemn goal of getting the hell out of sponge city, the process is pretty brisk. You have a little trouble heaving the scoop into position on Snug's lower back, even with the almost-weightlessness of the soma, but one of the People you don't know swoops in to help you. They hold it in place as you strap it down, before giving you a pat on the shoulder and flitting away again.

It's far too long before the last bubble is blown, and the human is hauled back up to the boat. But at last, the asdastir releases the boat, shockingly careful, probably to avoid capsizing the thing. It bobs up there for a while, unmoving.

Roxy springs into her riding basket. "We need to jet. When those invaders wake up, we wanna be gone."

"Bubbles are secure." Dirk takes the time to replace the sponge door he hacked out before returning to Snug. You wait for him to situate himself in the scoop, then take his hand and pull yourself across his lap.

Roxy lets out a loud hum, an inquisitive vibrato. All the others hum back in confirmation. You quietly try to do the same, so soft you assume she won't hear it.

She turns her head and beams at you. "Good job, 'pode. Now, let's all go home."

* * *

And just like that, life returns to what now passes for normal.

Lazy mornings curled up in bed bleed sideways into afternoons sampling even more local cuisine as Dirk tries to methodically determine how human taste buds work (and often declaring they "don't" as he relieves you of some too-tart treat). Evenings, you show him a movie using Terrybot's massive catalog. Or, you try to; Dirk's attention is fleeting, but you are working on it. With determination, you get him up to forty minute spells of cinematic glory before he insists on swishing away to do something else for a bit. But at least now you're finishing one vid per night. That's a relief.

The afternoon, though.

In the afternoon, Dirk leaves, and spends hours in audience with the Queenarch.

You are left behind, which is fine; you are not exactly gung ho to the max, gagging to see her again. Your encounter with her was…. perfectly fine, in hindsight. Useful even. But you're hoping to avoid her attention for as long as possible.

Thankfully, Dirk never asks you along with him. But also, it's friggin' _boring as shit_ when he's not around. His little home is lovely, but you don't want to muck about with too much of his stuff. There's little more nervewracking than the idea of pawing through his possessions and breaking one of them or spending it up or whatever, and him coming home to find you red-handed and shame-faced.

Point is, eventually, you cave under the pressure of your boredom. As he gets ready to leave you and go see the Queenarch, you swim over and drape yourself over his back. "Dirk, my favorite chum and bioluminescent devotee."

Dirk looks over his shoulder at you. "Jake, my… uh, Jake."

You chortle and nuzzle his cheek. "Excellent work there."

He grimaces, obviously upset with the magnitude of that dropped ball, before stroking your hair. "What's up? I have to head out soon."

What's up indeed. You loosen your grip on him, letting him spin 'round to you. "No, I know, I just…" You wrap your arms around yourself. "Hell's bells, nevermind, I'll see you when you're back."

"If something's wrong, you can tell me." He drifts closer, hovering over you. The back of his fingers run over your arm. "There's only so much that examination and extrapolation can bring into focus. I can determine one of the People's mood and needs from a close up look at their seathrall, but for you, I don't have that luxury. If I'm failing some aspect of your care, you are the only one who can raise alarm--"

"Weigh the anchors, there, Mr. Dirk ovied Strider, slow down," you tell him. "I'm _bored_ , that's all. Not dying, not hurt, just tired of spinning my wheels with naught to do while you go to commune with her royal octopodia."

"Oh," Dirk says, and pulses with light, flushing.

Your shoulders slump. "Just feeling a little cooped up. Do you have to go see her every day?"

"At the moment, I really do. Sorry." He tucks some hair back behind your jellycaps, stroking one with his thumb. "Keeping Rose on task and…. within scope, it's work. I can't leave Roxy to enable her with no voice of basic rationality there." He hums softly. "You can leave, you know."

A rush of cold runs down your spine. It must show on your face, because Dirk shakes his head quickly. "No, listen, it's fine. You don't have to sit around here if you don't want to. Take Strider, go-- visit Dave or explore the city, or whatever. If you get lost, they'll guide you back home. And if by some inexplicable chance of the currents you _really_ get lost, one of the sentry fish will bring you back."

"And that's… fine? To take a jaunt around Isaura? No one will mind?"

He taps your jellycaps. "No. You're clearly marked as… protected. No one will bother you, and if you wind up somewhere you shouldn't be, you'll get shooed off. It's fine." He leans in and smooches your forehead. "I have to go, but it's really fine. And, hey--"

He floats a few feet away before immediately doubling back, crown spokes illuminating. You feel the rush, and the thoughts left after the tide recedes. An errand. You can do that.

"Got it?" Dirk asks.

"Median, somateria weaver. Pick up order, bring it home." You grin. "Easy-peasy."

He gives you another kiss, then lets you go. There's no farewell or see you soon. Just a rich hum that follows him as he arches up, and fades as he whisks himself out through the floor, and away.

You'll see him again tonight. Maybe bully him into watching another movie with you. Now, the idea has a lot more appeal.

Grabbing one of the shelf supports, you shove yourself through the soma, colliding with Snug's squishy form. They lift their head from the seagrass and pet your face with their feelers.

"Come on, then. You're my chaperone," you tell them pointlessly.

It's no time to attach a harness to them, and to your relief and delight, they slide over the ground when you direct them. They respond to you with peaceable ease, and you hold on tight as you point them to the exit, and down into the city.

* * *

With all of Isaura laid out under you and permission to go anywhere you please, to explore the entire capital, to have an adventure…

You ride around in circles for a few minutes, around the central stalk of the tower, before heading in to see Dave.

Dirk's little brother seems surprised to see you when you arrive. But you are totally secondary to Snug, who Dave rockets over to hug when you both slug-slide into the rebubbler's chambers. "Hey, look who it is! It's you!" Dave cups Snug's head and wiggles it around. "What's going on with you?"

It takes you a moment to realize _that_ was directed at you, not the ovikopos. "Oh! Sorry, I thought you were still making kissy faces at Snug."

"I can multitask, I'm immensely talented." Dave shoves his hands into Snug's feelers to give them a good rub. "I see my good clutchmate isn't dragging you around like a longdoll. You out on good behavior, or did you make a great escape?"

Since he's not immediately showing you the door (or the hazy film of soma that serves as his door), you slide off Snug to float freely. "What's a longdoll?"

"Oh, shit. It's like this long…. doll… It's made of the shed skin of this really weird tubular creature out on the dunes, you stuff it full of floofy shit and you can hug it, it's great. Dirk had a fucking creepy one growing up. Hated that thing, but he dragged it everywhere."

Dirk pulling around a somatic raggedy anne was a sweet thought. "I see. No, I'm out on an errand and just to explore the city. No escape necessary."

"And you come crash into my place? I'm honored." He pulls Snug's head down, urging them to munch on some undergrowth down there, then swim up to face-level with you. "You wanna do something or just drift?"

"Drift?"

"Drift. Like… float and not worry about performing our roles in society to each other, just sort of _be_? Invaders do that, right?"

"Oh, hang out!" You nod. "Yes, we positively do that."

"The fuck does hang out mean, hang _what_ out? Hanging is an action, you gotta grip onto something. Drifting, you just don't do shit." He sighs. "Don't make any sense."

Given your myriad options, you elect to _drift_ with Dave for a while. He lets you into his back room, behind the second opaque archway. Inside is his private quarters, you figure. There's bell jars hanging from the ceiling, filled with food, strings of bubbles, a few errant ones just moving around the ceiling, plants growing down from the ceiling and dangling fruit, and clamshell jars sitting on a shelf with nearly every single lid missing or poorly clasped down.

The floor is the most interesting part. It reminds you of a very loose trampoline as you settle on it and recline, the entire thing bowing under your weight. There's a chance it's something alive, or was once alive, like a cross between the over-friendly sponges back in the valley and a velvet blanket. The way it cups around you as you lay down is soothing.

"Hey, so, they like upgraded your brain so you can understand us better, right?" Dave asks, floating into your view, upside down.

"Something like that," you say. "I don't know the particulars, just that my brain was all topsy-turvy for a little while, and now I think it's all back to normal."

"Sounds like Rose's handiwork. So, let’s do this."

Before you can catch up with what he's doing, Dave drops a fist-sized bubble onto your nose and pops it and

there's music again, rich and layered, you can press down against it and feel the strings vibrate and the crooning hum of a voice singing about the cool soma in the depths of the well, and a steady drum matches your heartbeat or coaxes your heartbeat to, one or the other, and you see the particular blue-black of ocean depths interspersed with diamond pinpricks, the stars but Paleraphon stars, deep deep down.

You sigh slowly and rub your face, blinking up at Dave.

"Hey," Dave says. "You're not thrashing like a feral chromatir."

"No," you answer with care, voice plodding and slow. "It was… a lot to take in, all the sound and story and the different visions. I think I'm supposed to see both the bubble stuff and reality, but that's not working just yet. Still, it was very nice. You could warn a guy next time, though."

"I could," Dave says, in a way that means he probably isn't. "Good to know. Hey, you want to try sweetweed?"

You spend some time drifting. Or, mostly, you lay in the half-embrace of the weird floor while munching on some weird somatic grass that tastes like minty pepper between your teeth. Dave joins you, laying opposite with your feet by his head and his tail by yours. With a bowl of black glitter dust, he blows bubbles for you, each a little song, a little vignette, an idea, a quiet memory.

It's nice, drifting. A bit like hanging out, but better, you think.

* * *

After you have thoroughly lost track of some time with Dave, you leave him to his very important bubble-blowing. He's a rascal, to be sure, but in a mostly harmless way you sort of enjoy. And you get the feeling he enjoys company, which makes you feel better about dropping by. It wouldn't do for you to have just Dirk and Snug, really. Your gran would be proud of you for facing your greatest fears and talking to people at your own volition.

You swim alongside Snug, eager to stretch your legs and arms after basically lazing around for over an hour. Heading to the Median is a little more intimidating; you can see the points of entry, the People coming and going in what seems like a steady stream.

When you close in, you surreptitiously hop back onto Snug's back and let them lead on. Surely if you compress yourself down against their back, no one will notice you are not one of the People at all but an interloper with weird boney limbs extending from your buttocks. Scandalous! Riveting and innovative!

Or, probably not innovative. You squeeze the harness as Snug swims through the great archway and settles into the grassy platform for ovikopos. Taking a breath, you push up, off them, and head up into the not-market above your head.

No, innovation tends to imply a new idea or iteration that improves on the original. Kicking your legs, you look around at what shapes surround you. All of them seem so much more efficient, be they tentacles or paddle tails or sharp moving ribbons. You wonder how they even keep track of all those limbs, the ones with four score of 'em swishing around. Seems exhausting to you.

You keep thinking about the logistics of the many-limbed as you kick and drive yourself up through the stalls. You are looking for… somateria weaver. The phrase doesn't make a ton of sense, but you rub the idea around your mind against other things, trying to catch a spark.

Maybe surveying the offerings will help. You're still unsure if you can call them "wares" given the lack of currency here, but you… don't know how any of this works. So whatever, you careen around the _bazaar_ looking for the right thing that matches the feeling Dirk left in your head.

One of the half-shells is full of snacks, and you pause to look. You recognize a few. If there's not money in Isaura, do you have to pay for things?

There are other People looking too, of course, and someone bumps into you. They are huge compared to you, around Roxy's size, with ribbons down their sides. "'Cuse me," you mutter, even though they were the one to bump into you.

They turn and look down at you, clearly surprised to see you. A trill rises in their throat. "An invader! You're an invader?"

You sort of just want to look at the food and not… up at them, but as you feel their gaze bore into you--

there's a feeling like a finger snapping in your head, and you _feel_ the amber pulse from your glowbobbers. You snap up to stare at them, and catch the contritre look on their face.

Beside the halfshell, the shopkeep hums angrily. "What are you tryin' there?"

"Nothing! I just wanted a look!" The looming being hunches their shoulders a bit at being scolded. As soon as they stop looking at you, you push off the halfshell and paddle away.

That was unpleasant and weird. You make some distance from the nosy cad, until the anxious twist in your stomach lessens. You really need to pick up Dirk's order and get out of here.

The problem is that there's five or six little shell stalls per 'floor' of the Median, and when you look up, it looks like it goes up as far as you can see, and looking down, you can just barely make out Snug and the bottom floor. There doesn't seem to be any signs to follow. There're lights, different hues and intensities and flickering rhythms all around you, but you don't understand them yet. That is, if you'll ever be able to.

You decide to just ask someone. The last shopkeep reprimanded that one nosy nellie. You swim over to the least-busy stall you see, someone offering up bubbles.

"Beggin' your pardon there, but do you know where the-- the somateria weaver is?" you ask.

The shopkeep, small and reedy, turns to you and immediately gawks, gaze lowering to your waist. You have the briefest impulse to reach down and cover your rod and tackle, but that'd just draw attention, you're sure. "What are _those_?" They ask, floating down to stare at your feet.

"Uh," you manage, kicking a little away.

The shopkeep reaches out and taps your foot, and trills. "Bony! What a weird design!" They thankfully drift back up to you. "And so small! Are you one of the People? Oh, oh, are you a new pet? Where's your keeper?"

More heads are turning, because this is just your luck, that you picked out the only person in Isaura who hasn't heard of the invader threat or whatever the bloody fuck. "Sorry, I really have to fetch an order for my-- my keeper." Sure, fine, if that'll get them to understand.

Then, behind, someone strokes your shoulder, and you shudder all over at the feeling it stirs. The illumination on your back, it must have gone off. You spin, clapping your hand over it.

"Belongs to Dirk ovied Strider," another person says, looking not at all sorry for having just put hands on.

  
"Oh, _that_ pinch of firesalt," the shopkeep replies. "Are you sure? He doesn't even keep cuddlepodes. Let me see."

They spin you around with a wide hand on your shoulder. They have claws, curved wickedly. How the fuck do they handle bubbles with knives for fingers! It makes no sense, but you hold still while they handle you and peer at your tag. Surely they can tell from the glow from your jellycaps? Is this really needed?

While the shopkeep takes their sweet time contemplating your tag, another of the People spirals down to peer at you. She looks at the raised glowing dots on your one shoulder and hums. "Can't be Dirk's. Asymmetry."

"That's a little rude!" you tell her, voice nearly cracking. Your pitch is a little high, and everyone in earshot winces. _Well, good!_ you think a little viciously.

Before you can go on, one of the People-- you're not even sure who now-- pats your head and hums at you, soft and commanding you to match them, to soften your voice. It makes you shiver again, uncomfortable and weird. It feels incompatible somehow, like trying to shove the wrong type of battery into a device.

"Even this seems new," the big one says, and a hand is in your hair. "Would be nice to have a sample. What about it, let’s go to my shell for a quick sampling."

Oh hell fucking no thank you. Getting past your tangled mix of worry and indignation enough to speak takes a deep breath, and you're a little mortified to find you voice quieter as you speak. "I'm trying to pick up an order for Dirk, actually, if anyone would point me to the somateria stall? It's a fairly important errand, and I don't want to be-- be held up."

"It speaks and it goes and does your busywork for you? Why's Dirk got one of these? He's not _that_ far upstream."

"Farther than you."

"Hush."

They're flashing more lights at you. It's… dazzling. You reach up and cup your ears, pressing on the caps, inhaling through another seasick rush in your gut. What if you just scampered off? They're all going to be much faster through soma than you are. Shit, you could be at home right now, curled up in the conchbed with a movie, instead of this.

When someone finally grabs you, the first thing you want to do is wheel around and deck them a good one. But that would be bad and instead you freeze up, breath catching in your chest like a stick shoved into the spokes of a bike.

The hands are, again, so much larger than you really know what to do with, and they lift you up, away from the little group of gawkers. A dark shade falls over you.

"Now that is quite enough of that," a new voice says. "I heard this creature was looking for me?" There is a light tap against your shoulder tag. "Ah, yes, Dirk has a parcel for pickup. Come along, then."

You glance back and see the three who were prodding at you look disappointed but also… unmoving, staring up.

You look around proper to see who has you. It's no one you know. You've not seen _anyone_ like this.

They are a large one, larger than Roxy by half, with dark velvet skin and milky red eyes. The shade falling over you is from the _enormous_ head ornament, a massive jellyfish head balanced on their head like My Fair Lady at the seahorse racetrack. Unlike most of the jellies around Paleraphon, this cap is dark, the color of drying human blood. Raining down from it are long ink and gold trellises of tendrils. There are so many, a few already slide over you as you stare; they seem to be non-toxic and devoid of stingers, as they drag over your bare skin with just a silky tickle of sensation.

They are still, and you realize they're letting you get a load of them without remark. You blush and lower your gaze. Oh. They have jelly ribbons for a tail as well. You wonder how that affects their whole somatic locomotion. Certainly it has pizazz. "Sorry," you mutter.

"My stall is at the very top. I can carry you, or you can follow," they tell you in an agonizingly neutral tone.

Immediately, you think of falling behind and who else might accost you. "Oh, uh… Would it be any trouble to…. I mean, no, I should…"

They shake their head, and the entire jelly helm moves with them. The effect of their tendrils moving is frankly gorgeous. "Not at all. Come."

You're not thrilled to bits to have anyone touching you, but you always want the heck out of Dodge. You hold onto your jellied savior's shoulder, and try not to move too much as they swim up to the top of the Median.

The trip up is a little awkward. You clear your throat. "I'm Jake," you offer up.

"I know your name," they say, and glance askance at you. "I am Dahnlan. I am the weaver you've been asking around for."

"Great! That's… swell." You wince and look down, away from them. 'Swell?' Really, English?

You've already traversed much of the Median, so it's not too long before Dahnlan releases you. Up here, the traffic is a lot more sparse, with only a few of the People browsing, and none at the shell Dahnlan swims over to.

Wanting to do this right, you gather yourself. "Thank you. I didn't know how to shake them off."

"No, the People are often very covetous of any new thing. It's our way, to have all the best and brightest accoutrements and adaptations and companions." They slide an arm around the back of their shell-shelf, and hang there, watching you.

"But… not you?" you ask.

They smile. There are a few sharp teeth in their mouth. "I am older than the Queenarch herself. I remember when the first chromatirs rode through this city, how the sight of them made half of Isaura mad with envy. They are always searching for the newest morsel."

They turn from you and start to dig their arms deep into the halfshell. Lifting, a compartment comes loose; underneath, you can see many bound parcels, like bolts of fabric with straps holding them together. Dahnlan's fingers drag across the parcels, a low hum starting from their chest.

"So, then…" As you wait, they hum a little louder, as if beckoning you to go on. You swallow the nervousness in your throat and try. "Would you say I was in…. some sort of danger?"

"Oh, no," they tell you immediately as they remove a bolt from their collection. Letting go of the compartment door, it drifts shut. "Dirk ovied Strider is the left hand to the Queenarch. At their most avaricious they still wouldn't dare take something of his."

The briskness of their answer is reassuring, at least. Still, you haven't a clue what to _say_ to it, and instead just hold out your arms. "What's that he's ordered up then?"

It looks like a bolt of fabric, but when they lay it in your arms, it feels soft and sleek. The somateria is folded and neat, layers of perfect gleaming fin stuff. Cartilage, you think? Unless it's different on this planet. Carefully, you turn it around, peering close at it.

Up close, you can see the minute details; as you tilt it, the material shifts in the light, dramatically rolling from a cool black to a shining emerald. You push down on the corner with a thumb, and the colors ripple from one to the next over and over, vivid and reactive.

You can see your own seafoamy webbing against it. The richness is like night and day. Not that your webbing isn't fetching, but this is… the haute couture of the People, it seems.

"Is this… for me?" you ask in a whisper.

"Yes, that should be obvious," Dahnlan says. "Dirk is a fastidious one, and wouldn't be caught dead in these hues. They wouldn't match him at all." They pat the bolt. "They wanted something special, so they needed a weaver."

This is for you. Slowly, you pull the parcel against your chest, both arms wrapped around it. "Weaver… what's that mean, if you don't mind?"

"You are new to our People," Dahnlan says. "For those who wish to change their appearance, they must seek out their own somateria, ask a harvester to look for it among our many sources, or ask a weaver to form it wholecloth." They drape over their shelf again. You think maybe you can see the age in them, in their more careful, slower movements, and something in how they carry themselves a little more gently. "Dirk wanted something very particular in both color and texture."

"I see," you say. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

They smile softly. "You and he are welcome. Now, you should hurry along, straight back home before anyone else gets any bright ideas looking at you. But once he's applied this, come back. I'd like to see what ridiculous bit of ruff he's got in mind for you."

"Will do." Floating there holding the bolt, you feel like you should… bow or something. This member of the People with their great jelly head feels more regal than the Queenarch had. But then, the Queenarch was more of a gothic, terrifying sort of regal.

So you just thank them again, and flip yourself around. You have the entire stretch of the Median to swim through, but now you are armed with a parcel. And no one dares pester a bloke with a determined expression and a parcel.

You'll be fine.

* * *

The cherry on top of your day would be to come back home and convince Dirk to curl up with you and Snug watching a movie, and maybe he'd even make it through the entire film this time, that would be great honestly. More than anything, you need a wind down after the ordeal at the Median.

What you didn't anticipate so much was Dirk beating you home. You were gone longer than you thought; on top of that, the trip back was awkward. You couldn't figure out a decent way to keep hold of the somateria bolt _and_ on Snug's harness, so you both swam back together. Snug kept head of you by a few paces, their sensory feelers pointed back in your direction.

The trek almost straight up into Dirk's house felt weirdly perilous. What if you dropped the package? Would you be fast enough to catch it before it fell to the bottom of the Isaura cavern? Shit?

But you heave yourself up, right onto the lip of the hole, and drop the parcel on your lap as you catch your breath.

Snug immediately abandons you to munch on some floorfood, which is fine. You sit, legs dangling, and rest.

"You're back," Dirk says, whipping into your view so suddenly you yelp.

" _You're_ back!" Picking up the bolt again, you hold it out. "I got your thing."

He takes it, and gently tosses it behind himself. It floats away slowly through the soma, and with his freed hands, he takes hold of your face. "You were gone."

"Oh, well…" You curl your hand around his wrist. "Sort of lost track of the clock, I think. I visited Dave and, you know I don't know how long I was there, but you'll be pleased to hear that whatever neural magic the Queenarch did, now I can understand some bubbles! That was a treat, and we "drifted,"" you make air quotes, before realizing Dirk won't understand what those are and stop, "for a while. Then I went to the Median for your pick-up and nearly got picked-up myself!"

Dirk frowns. "What?"

"Loads of the People wanted to take me home like a stray kitten! And they're really rude, you know, they weren't listening to me one lick. Thankfully Dahnlan bailed me out of that plane wreck." You beam. "They're pretty grand, aren't they? That's quite the ornament they've got."

Dirk nods along slowly, but doesn't say anything. His arms stroke down your arms, then back to cup your neck. His head bows, resting against you and he just… sighs.

That's a little concerning. You match him, hands on his arms, rubbing over the spots scattered around. The way they are set just a little deeper into his skin, the texture just a little different, is… so nice under your fingertips. "Say there, Dirk, you weren't… worried or anything, were you? You said yourself I'd be fine."

Dirk's quiet a moment, and his nose rubs against your hair in a slow nuzzle. "I did say that. And I was right, you're fine to go and explore a bit. I just--" A tense sound catches in his chest. "I expected you home already when I got back."

"Oh. Sorry. It's… sort of hard to tell time down here?" You graduate to rubbing his back, fingers tucking into his hugfins. "You seem… erm."

Inhaling deeply, Dirk eases back from you, thumb against your cheek. His eyes are heavy and there is something weighty in his posture, sloping his shoulders. "Long day."

"Did things not go well with the Queenarch?"

"Rose has her designs." It's a vague answer, but all Dirk seems up for. When he pushes off you, up into the air, you pull your feet up and follow him. That at least elicits a small smile. "But you had fun with Dave? Or, you tolerated his mercurial bullshit enough to enjoy the visit?"

"I believe a fair exchange was struck between his wily bullshit and my introduction to more bubbles," you report dutifully. "My fondness for him is creeping up, like an aggressive mold."

"Yeah, sounds about right." Dirk leans in to kiss your forehead. You hum back, closing your eyes. "Okay. I think my fit of pointless fin-fussing is dealt with. Do… Can I show you the parcel you picked up? Because its… not really for me, it's--"

"Yes, I figured as much." You clap your hands together. "What weird alien adornments have you conjured up this time?"

The bolt has settled against one of the shelfs against the wall, by the food stores. Dirk goes over to it and retrieves it, turning the folded somateria over in his hands. "Something that… Well, it's a little more involved, but I had an idea for something that's going to look pretty swish if I can make it work. It's a modified technique, given your anatomy."

"Oh no," you say despairingly, "am I getting a tail finally? Has the time come?"

Dirk tucks the bolt under his arm and turns to you in a lazy loop. "Were you hoping for one?"

The tone of his voice has the sarcasm drain from yours. "Wait, is that… like, can you _do_ that? In a strictly hypothetical sense without my submitting any sort of request for that sort of thing."

A smile ghosts over his face. "Don't know. That's a little more-- we do things like that sometimes, but the process is more involved than simply splicing. That requires more complex growth to ensure there are nerves and muscles that _can_ be operated by the creature. Or else, it's slapping on a tail as dead weight."

He floats past you, over to his work bench. You quickly give chase, and reach out to grab some fins, dragged along. "But you can _do_ that?"

"Let's put that aside for now. That would be a better question for Roxy. She does more advanced work than I do." He unrolls the bundle across his work area, skating his hands over it. It moves like oil in water, the shifting ripple of hues, black to green and back. "Hm."

"It's pretty," you remark. Very pretty. You're not sure you… _deserve_ it? So many of the People are beautiful creatures, and you have no illusions about what a handsome human you are, but does Dirk intend to try to make you like him and those like him? That… sounds daunting.

Still, he reaches for you, pulling you closer so he can drape some of the somateria over your arm, fingers rubbing at the edge where it meets your skin. He hums some more, calm and determined. "This will work. But… it's going to take some time to prep."

His arms reach over his head, and back, rather far back. He bends like a bow, and you gawk for a moment before realizing he's stretching. He's sure fucking flexible, wow, and the way it pulls all his skin taut, showing off the alien musculature, is… a whole lot.

You feel tension in your pelvis. Shit, how what.

Dirk relaxes, and gives his neck a rub. "What?"

"Nothing, I just thought! Oh, gee fucking willickers." You turn a bit away from him.

Dirk immediately turns you back around and leans in. You have the sensation of being looked at, looked _into_ , before he eases off. "Ah."

"Don't just go 'ah' at me, you menace," you bluster at him, crossing your arms. "It's not my fault you're all flowy and blue suede and alluring. That is almost empirically your fault, given your propensity for picking how you look."

"Wow, I'm honored," Dirk says, pulsing with light. His thumb strokes over your jellycap, and you feel like a drop of oil's dripped on the sizzling heat in your body. "And it's been… a hard few days, dealing with Rose and Roxy's mobius strip of self-enabling domination bullshit."

You might say something to that, but then Dirk's fingers slide right into your mouth as you part your lips to respond. Two of them, long and felted, finding your tongue immediately and you go still, verbally and mentally as everything in your head screeches to a halt, emergency brake on.

He winds his touch in slow spirals on your cap, starting at the center and dragging around against the warm gelatinous pressure, outward to the edge where it seals around your skin. Then, again, from the center, dragging out, pushing harder.

Your legs kick, involuntary and weak, and hang there, your folded arms coming loose to fall to your sides, slow in the soma. He pushes down on your tongue a little more, and you shut your eyes and close your mouth to avoid drooling and making a mess. Cautiously, unsure if you're allowed, you roll your tongue, feeling the tacky strange drag against his skin.

What were you doing? There was… context. But you can't remember it. Now, the unfurling flowering heat is reaching into your head from the circling pressure against your ear, and your mouth is full around something heavy. You explore it, trying to figure it out, a little confused but mostly just curious.

"That," Dirk says, as if from in your own head, "is very good. The way you take to it is remarkable. Almost insensible, given how intelligent you are. Can you hear me?"

You can. But it doesn't feel very important, so you just hum.

"Good. This'll be… yeah, good. Come here."

Your mouth is empty, and you pant quietly, licking your lips. Feels weird. You look around drowsily until you find Dirk.

He's holding you, but not actually looking at you. Following his gaze, you find what's so much more important than looking at you.

Under his bench, there's containers. Bell jars, those strange translucent things he uses to keep things in. To keep _you_ in, back so…. long ago.

With a shushing sound, Dirk tugs and coaxes you to bend to his whim, tucking you up. With one hand, he pets the mouth of one empty bell jar, pulling and stroking it until it opens its strange maw wider and wider.

You watch passively, until the opening is big enough for Dirk to swoop in and push you away, right into the jar. Soft thick clinging plantflesh grabs hold of you, like catching Dirk's toss, and you huff, pressing your palms against the sides and uncurling your legs. Your heels slip and fall against the buttery smooth sides of the jar, and you let out a whine.

"You're fine," Dirk informs you, and cups your head, hand against your jellycap. You still, and he strokes the outside of the jar until its mouth closes.

Everything closes, coming together around your body. Working your hips, you try to wiggle into a new position, only for Dirk to grip your hair and hold you. So, you stop, and wait as the jar seals. It seems weird, that he would work you up like this only to put you away, like a toy shoved onto a shelf with the power still running.

But the jar seals itself with firm, unmoving pressure around your neck. And Dirk lets out a pleased sigh, stroking your hair.

"There. Okay. I'm going to get started on this. You… can get started too," Dirk tells you in a low rumbling voice, subvocal hum bleeding his words together into a gooey sweet mess.

He lets you go, to your subdued dismay, instead grabbing his work bench to position himself. Out of your vision, there is noise, as he presumably roots around up there.

You extend your legs all the way out, pointing your toes, and feel the bell jar pull against you, inanimate and unsympathetic resistance. Bending is not much better, and everything pulls in new directions before gripping you still. Now you've done it, and when you go lax, there is still fingertrap closure around your body, from your shoulders to your ass. Sliding your hands against the jar coaxes it open around your chest, but tightens on your hips and shoulders. You buck once, groaning, your dick sliding against the plush pressure.

Dirk's hand returns to your hair, taking hold, and lifting your head.

Paying better attention, you see his ornately-finned hips in front of you. And you see the lurid blue tendrils working their way loose, curling into the soma in front of his slit.

A bell practically dings in your head at the color alone, and you lean in. You're limited in range like this, wrapped up and anchored in place, but you manage to close your lips around the closest tendril, and squeeze it, running your tongue against it.

His whole body sways in with a rich hum, and the tendrils quickly follow along, their fuzzy tips running over your cheeks and nose. You shut your eyes as they engulf you, curling into your hair and exploring the shape of your face. A few eager ones frot against your jaw and cheekbones. Others are slow and patient, idly petting you as you let three into your mouth and lave them with attention.

They wrap greedily around your tongue, pulling sharply. You have to open your mouth, and more surge in like floodgates broken. Keeping track of them all is absolutely fucking impossible, both because of how they overlap and squirm around and flit around, and because… your mind just isn't catching.

Your mouth opens wider and wider as more tendrils slippery slide in, testing the circumference of your mouth, how much you can hold. Throat clicking, you groan, and rock your hips, getting louder at the resulting squeeze.

One tendril slides through your hair to the back of your head, twisting into a tiny tendril-sized fistful. Another matches it from the other side, pulling. Your face is buried in them, until it's like you've shoved yourself into an amorous squid.

A few ease off, freeing your mouth. Probably so you can adequately lap and suck at them. It's much harder to work when you're full to capacity. A few remain, running over the shape of your tongue and the delicate surface of your palate. It's satisfying, like playing a game you're _really_ good at, to follow them around and pull at them and suck until they squirm loose.

The rest spread out, until you can scarce feel a place where your skin is not lavished with velvet tendrils. Opening your eyes would be treacherous at this point, and you hardly mind, burying your face deeper into their grasp. It's soothing, the constant stroking.

Then, everything squeezes you. All of them-- or the ones not in your mouth-- constrict in unison, tugging you deeper and wrapping around you fully, holding you in place as the three in your mouth slip to the back of your throat, riding your tongue, and pressing down on your caps over your ears.

You jerk everywhere, lightning in your mind and running down your spine. It keeps going, pressure, harder, some maybe curling around the bulbs and pounding that button until you can't feel anything but the blue static in your blood, good, sharp, sinking like a scalpel. The sound you're making is muffled and strained, too much nearly gagging you, but you jerk your hips back and forth, over and again until you come rubbing against the bell jar with the tendrils toying with you, driving you up higher and harder.

Eventually, you sob, needing to stop before your body shakes apart into blue sparks.

They ease off, thank the fucking stars. The vice loosens, and you sag against them as tendrils cradle your face. Mouth lax, you can't do a thing as more slip inside and stroke your tongue.

They're patient for about twenty seconds. Then they tighten in your hair again and push around your mouth. Moaning, you make a seal with your lips and work up some suction.

There isn't anywhere to go, and there are enough tendrils keeping you in place or dragging you closer, all you can do is work. But it's slow, methodical. Only a few deign to invade your mouth at a time, the rest just working in concert to keep you in line.

They are demanding, and you have no choice but to comply, which leaves you gasping for soma and making truly embarrassing noises as your face is fucked by a fussy collection of grabby rascals.

But when the tired, spent ones spill sleepily from your mouth, they pet you in broad swipes, and you shiver all over. You're good at this. So very, very good, and you should be pleased.

You come again from just the tension around your hips and the tendrils stretching out your mouth to rub off against your bruised lips. After, you slump, forehead resting against them and the slit they hide in. "Fuck," you moan tiredly.

Half a dozen drag circles around your jellycaps, making you gasp and roll your eyes up. Oh, _fuck._

You have no way of tracking how many still need to be attended to. It feels like you should be finished when more pull at your teeth and open you to get four riding in waves over the curl of your tongue. Under it all, you're humming something. You barely even understand it yourself, but once you start, you can't stop.

There's no point in anything except following the tactile commands, and you bend to your diligent work, and stop giving a flying fig about time or numbers or guessing anything.

Just this. You're very good at this.

Sometime, in another life maybe, Dirk says, "That should be enough for now."

His hips rock into your face a few more times before everything curls up and retracts, tidily slipping away.

Licking your lips is exhausting. The effort is enormous, but you feel… sore and messy in a way you didn't expect. Oh. Are you finished? The idea of a finish had slipped your mind.

The closure around you loosens, and kind hands lift you up and away from its grip. Eyes still closed, you are drawn in against Dirk's body, and happily loll against him.

He touches fingers to your mouth; instinctive, you open. "Hey there. Jake."

You hum back in wavering affirmation; it's about all you can manage.

He pets you, and it's just about the best feeling you've ever imagined. Shame you're too tired to lean into it.

"I didn't expect… Actually, this is fine." The pads of his fingers drag over your neck, down to trace the hard line of your collarbone, settling in the little dip in the middle. "Yeah, that's good. Stay like this for a little while. I'll wake you up when I'm done."

Fine with you. There are only a few fleeting thoughts bouncing around your cranium, and even fewer find their connections. Your body's laid down on the bench, and a few firm straps reassure you aren't going to make a daring escape.

Which is fine. You are worn and tired and teetering between consciousness and deep slumber. It's a balancing act, but you don't mind. Someone else is doing the work, holding you there, and all you have to do is let them.

Taking a deep breath, you sigh, and enjoy your hard-earned rest as Dirk does his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay one: changed all the chapter titles to make the fic easier for *me* to navigate, bc that's how i am. also i did not start this fic thinking it would be this long, so the naming convention fell apart.
> 
> two: we got about two chapters left, then maybe an epilogue.
> 
> three: ow why the fuck did i write 13K again, my arm aches, weh weh weh
> 
> four: OH if you haven't already, check out the "based on my fic" tag on my blog for rad art. [this one in particular is great if you wanna understand the size scale of our mer pals](https://callmearcturus.tumblr.com/post/175241933020/nightcigale-the-whole-mermaid-family-from)


	12. resign my name to the ranks of the blamed and the conned

Something goes awry, and the only thing you know about it is that one day Dirk is having his habitual meetings with the Queenarch, discussing important things, and the next day he's home.

The time after breakfast to when Dirk normally leaves stretches further and further. You had another outing yesterday, so you're thinking about a nice cozy day in today. Intending to retreat back up into bed with Terrybot, you are waiting a little impatiently for Dirk to split already. Your consternation fades as you watch Dirk flit around the house.

He reorganizes the groceries you picked up yesterday, restacking them into the bell jars in some order that makes no sense to you. After they are reordered, he swims to some of the shelves spread between the struts in the house, picking up containers to check their contents, frowning at the empty ones. Then, he checks on the drifting lampfish that circle the edge of the open room.

You take a few yummy root treats and feed Snug, petting them as you watch Dirk through the corner of your eyes.

The glow in him is steady, but tremulous. You think you are getting quite good at reading him, and he's all twisted in knots about something.

You could do something about that. When you're done with Snug, you kick off the ground to go check the work table. The weight of his regard on you is palpable. For a moment, you ignore it, grabbing a string of pavarn nuts and swimming over to one of the empty shelves that you like to sit on.

Without looking at him, you set the string of nuts in your lap and pinch the stem of one, freeing it. Popping it between your hands, you lather, then start to tidy yourself up.

It's important to keep clean, doubly so around the new ornate treatment Dirk applied to you. It's still a little tender, but better with each day. You rub your fingers along the pattern, from your clavicle up to your neck, and as much of you can reach behind your shoulders.

This little change is subtle. When you're sitting still with your arms at your sides, it just looks like little pointed indents along your skin. Sort of like the beginning of scales. You brush your hand along with the grain, so to speak, and feel the little texture, rubbing in the pavar gently.

As you move, your skin pulls, and every little divot tips and opens like a row of feathers being splayed out. Under your dark skin, you have little gleaming green inserts that flash and catch the light as you flex. It's hard to look away once you catch sight; you lift your arm and turn your shoulder a bit, making a dozen of the tidy slices in your skin spread and reveal the green hidden inside.

You get distracted doing that for a while. Bent one way, your skin could pass for totally normal. A slight twist, and all the precise slits spread and you are green underneath. It still seems too fancy, and you know it took so much meticulous finicky slicing, dicing, and splicing to do.

You're worth it, though.

Blinking, you look up and see Dirk holding onto a strut over your head. "Hullo. Are you done wandering about like a malfunctioning floorbot?"

He pulls himself down to your level and twines his tail around the strut to hold in place. "Hard to say."

You bust open another nut between your hands and start cleaning your hair and face too, just to be thorough. "No meeting with the Queenarch today?"

Dirk grimaces. "It was advised I sit this one out."

"You sound thrilled to bits."

"Yeah." He sighs, and watches you as you scrub down. "When Rose and Roxy start to work together without supervision, they essentially combine thralls and lead each other along to mayhem. I wanted to anchor them, but…"

He trails off, looking sort of away from you.

Waiting for him to speak is a loser's game. Rather than pick up the dropped thread of conversation, Dirk takes a pavarn nut and starts to clean his tail. There's a lot to clean, with his rich, layered fins.

The silence is tepid and reluctant, but squatting like a frog. You purse your lips and… this is not impossible for you. Really, there is something to be said for your ability to fake comfort until you feel it like a borrowed shirt that just becomes part of your wardrobe. It's all an occupational hazard.

You lather up more pavar and card your hands into Dirk's tail plumes. Fingers closing, you stroke outward, following their shape.

Dirk watches you, his crown spokes sort of twitching. You glance up at him through your fringe and slow your movements. "Is this okay? I'm not breaking some taboo of the People, am I?"

"No. Or, a bit, but I don't… mind." His tail unwraps from its place to recurl between the two of you, the tip fanned over your lap.

Bolstered, you keep rubbing and flicking his fins between your fingers. "You should tell me anyway, so I don't make a fool of myself."

"Grooming is… normally kept private, you don't put your hands on someone else's fins unless…" He hums something, anxious but warm.

You can fill in the details, and smile softly as you make a show of really getting in there and grooming this Paleraphone babe with gusto. "Well, this is private as Perigee's Eve, and I've put my hands on a lot more than your fins, don't you think?"

That amber flush of color is so fun to coax out of him. You laugh. "What? Been a while since anyone's laid hands on?"

"No one--" Dirk stops hard, and stares very intently at your meticulous work, not looking at you at all. More through you in a particularly distant way. Oh.

Wait, that cannot be right. And before you can shove a cork in it, you blurt out as much. "Wait, that cannot be right."

"Pretty fucking emphatically don't know what you mean," Dirk says, his subvocal hum getting jagged in interesting ways. He takes hold of your wrist between two fingers and pulls you up. "Missed here."

 _"Pardon me,_ my liege, I'll get right to it but…" You rest your palms against the felty blue skin of his tail. "Have I got it all turned 'round? I sort of assumed you were… a looker, as far as the People go?"

He rolls his head back, looking upward, even further from you. "There is nothing about this line of questioning I don't hate. Do I ask if you are considered attractive by your species' standards? No. Because _that_ has to be a cultural taboo, right?"

"I can fake modesty for you, but-- I clean up quite well, actually! I would say I'm a solid--" Eight would be a lie, and you know it, you've seen all the comments swooning over you when you shared selfies. "-- nine, and you are too!"

Dirk covers his face for a moment. "Let's… leave that where it is to ferment and be rightfully ignored, because seriously."

"Oh, so you don't think I'm a catch," you say, just to see him twitch more, annoyed.

"If I didn't, we wouldn't be here," Dirk says. Preening his fins helps. You keep doing that, and watch him sigh and shift, breath slowing. "But it's a lot more complicated than that. Though… thanks for…" He makes a gesture that translates fairly directly to _seeing me as attractive despite the myriad differences between our species, that's cool._

"Course." You pet down his fins and start on another plume. "But really, you've never gotten some solid rubdowns from any other People?" You sort of got the impression the People were a bit aggressive in that regard, given how eager they were to tangle with you that time you went to the Median alone.

"No." He winces. "Not really." When you rub his tail again, he goes on bitterly, "Pretty impressive, huh? Upstream member of the Isaura people has to entwine with an alien to get any."

The word has never sounded so obscene before, and you flush. "Oh, don't be like that."

Dirk's shoulders slump. "Yeah… It's all sort of… Even Dave moved out pretty early in our lives, and Roxy made a few passes, but she's not really my type."

You almost ask what his type is, then catch yourself. Present evidence answers that pretty well, if you take a moment to actually think about it. Lucky you.

"And everyone knows I'm close to the Queenarch. It just… makes shit more difficult. Which is fine. I'm usually focused on work anyway."

Right. Like you haven't sat here all morning and watched how Dirk gets when he doesn't have a task. You decide to be nice and not say anything about that.

"I'm good at being on my own," Dirk keeps saying. Oh. You haven't really responded yet, have you? He sounds more clipped and nervous. "And it's not like I've put a lot of effort into it, trying to pull someone in. Don't have much space for other people anyway."

"I'm small," you blurt out, needing to stop the runaway locomotive of Dirk's rambling.

He lifts his eyebrows at you.

"I just mean…" You scrub at his tail, shrugging one shoulder. "Don't take up much space. That's alright, isn't it?" Clearing your throat, you cannot meet his gaze anymore. "And phew, what a relief, since that's sort of an axis of attraction for the People, right? All humans are about this size, you could've happened on any of us, and…" You're out of tingly minty stuff. You fumble to grab another nut to crack.

Dirk's hand folds into your hair, and his lips press firmly against your forehead. Your eyes shut, and your mind slows its whirling dervish back into something suiting the late morning.

His lips move against your skin as he says, "Anyone would have made a good research subject. But you… I'm glad it was you." The back of his fingers run up your arm, then his palm slides down your back.

It is a _very_ good thing you're small. You fit with him, and that's nice. Shutting your eyes, you lean against him as he pets you quietly.

It would be easy to spend all day like that. You can see that laid out before you, exactly how simple and tempting it is.

But the way he circled around the house, doing nothing, lost and uncertain, is embedded in your mind now, and you can't shake it loose. Leaning back, you aim a soft smile up at him.

You can help him. You should. There's nothing to it, just giving him a warm peck on his full lips and grinning at the way he pulses with light. "I think," you murmur, "we should take this elsewhere."

His eyes glow like lamplights. "Yeah? Got something in mind?"

"Oh, yes." You give him another peck, then push off him. "I'm thinking today is the _perfect_ day to really watch a movie. And I mean a full one! You've got no excuse, so I don't want you swanning off to go iron your dog in the middle of things! I've already got a few classics in mind."

Eyes darkening, he looks you over, as if gauging your level of earnestness. It is a very high level, and you stare right back, waiting for him to recognize the determination in you. Can't miss it.

"Alright," Dirk agrees quietly. "Grab your round companion. We can watch in bed."

Oh. You feel a wash of warmth all the way down to your toes at the way he stares into you. It could fell a giant, that rapier stare. _Touche,_ you think vividly, even as the idea finds home in you. There are some sexier films stashed on Terrybot's drives. This could… be another good way to spend a lazy day.

Dirk unwraps from his perch and his tail strokes wide to propel him along as he dims the lampfish. You watch him closely.

When he's done, he twirls around gracefully to face you and wait with an expectant expression on his face.

You fetch Terrybot from his spot on the shelf, then swim out to float in front of Dirk. Gnawing on your lip, you watch his eyes flick to your mouth, then up again, the heat in his face banking to something a little less aggressive. "What?"

"I think you're a catch," you tell him firmly, then push off his shoulder to kick up towards the conch bed. "Waiting on you, chickadee!"

The day is long, and lazy, and perfectly lovely. Life, you think with some measure of confidence, is pretty good.

 

* * *

 

With another day of being excused from meeting with the Queenarch, Dirk gets more tense. The soma practically buzzes around him with agitation as he's torn between spending his energy rushing out on errands and loitering around the house, fussing about in a thoroughly unconvincing way.

It peeves you off something fierce with no recourse but to curl up with Snug and ignore him.

With the next day, though, Dirk stays in bed in the morning, dozing, unhurried in a wonderfully indulgent way. The fever's broken, it seems, and now you can just look at him and bump your head against his. He blinks at you, and hums.

"I've got a hankering for some sort of outing," you tell him. "Going a bit stir-crazed in this floating globe of yours, lovely though it is. Are you willing to go a little further afield today?"

He considers it, his thumb stroking along the fetching collar of sneaky scaled skin you've got. He pushes against the grain, and green peeks out. "We can do that. There's…" He smooths your skin back down. "I can think of something you might enjoy."

Snug stays behind as you hold onto Dirk's back. Together you swim out of the hollow mountain containing Isaura, and out to the surrounding areas. You can see canyon-wall condos and an orchard you can now recognize as growing chussots. That sounds like a prime location to settle in for some sightseeing, but there is something else in mind, it seems.

Dirk takes you just a little further out, until Isaura's cavern is an unimpressive molehill on the horizon. Finally, he arches down, towards a wide open plain.

It looks like a great field, covered in tall seagrass. It's flat, but for where it peaks up into tiny cones. Each one expels a bubbling stream of _something_ into the soma above. Maybe it's deep ocean gases? You're not sure.

But all around, you see enormous ovikopos. They slide through the field, garish colors and long feathery feelers moving in licking waves. Each is at least twice the size of Snug, and more than a few are lethargic nudibranch landships gliding through the stalks of grass.

"Holy toledo, they're some giga-ovikopos!" you say, letting go of Dirk, drifting to stillness as Dirk sweeps away.

He spins, and returns to your side. "These are for breeding more ovikopos. They aren't housetrained, but I…" He hovers, somehow watching your reaction closely without looking directly at you. It's some trick. "I thought you'd enjoy it."

From your position a fair few yards over the field, you can see more than a handful of big friendly slug-steeds, as well as an enormous pile of them a ways off. They seem to sleep curled around each other, their vibrant hues about as harmonious as a hurricane. You snicker. "Just _looking_ at them spites the eyes something fierce," you say, pointing to the nudipile.

Dirk follows your gaze and winces. "Yeah, they… don't have any sense of color theory, do they?"

"Oh, how dare they." You're delighted, and swim further down, to look closer at the giant fellow closest to you.

"Stay away from the vents," Dirk warns you, but otherwise lets you wander.

"Is it hot gases? We have those on other worlds."

"No." A shadow passes over you and you can tell Dirk is trailing along after you idly. "Under this mound, the tendants cook up a stew of nutrients and small organisms. They feed up through the vents for the ovikopos to eat. It's safe, but hot."

"Noted," you inform him, and settle in front of one of the super-ovikopos. Its head and neck alone are nearly as big as you are! It's incredible. You hold out your hand towards it, waiting for it to accept the offered pets. That always works with cats and dogs.

Instead, it wraps it's peacock-fan-length sensory stuff around your hand and arm. It's ticklish, and you yelp and struggle to hold still.

"Again," Dirk says, voice close enough he must be just above you. He sounds amused at least. "Not housetrained. But still harmless."

"So long as they don't leave me armless." Extricating your hand takes some doing, and you have to pluck at the feelers to untangle them.

Dirk sinks into your view, and does something with his seathrall. The ovikopos slows, and their grip on you loosens. "You have my solemn vow if one of them has mutated some dangerous predator traits, I will protect you."

You snort, amused. "That would be a valiant, impressive oath there if you couldn't just wave around a pretty light and make the danger go away."

"Rather than be offended, I'm going to focus on the fact you think it's pretty," Dirk remarks dryly.

"What a shocker." You laugh. It's a wonderful sound. As the ovikopos goes calm, you give it a sort of conciliatory rub, along the squishy skin around its neck, and down its chest. Your fingers catch on the seam there, and you pluck at the pouch curiously.

The fold of skin is enormous, befitting the size of the creature. You whistle softly and pull it a little ways from its body, looking down. "Sweet Mary Murtle, I be I could fit in there, it's huge."

"Let's not test the theory," Dirk says, and nudges you along. Obediently, you give the ovikopos one more pat, then kick away, heading off in a random direction through the field. The tips of the grass stalks sometimes trace over your stomach, and you scratch at your skin.

As you expect, he follows you; it's interesting to feel the way he moves the soma around with the great beats of his tail, so much more than anything you can manage. The ocean seems completely unimpressed with your new hand webbing. It all just bends more to his whim than yours.

Everything out here is wide and open like spread wings, and that alone helps. A screwed tight feeling in your chest comes loose, and you take great enjoyment in just swimming in a single direction for a while, not having to worry about hitting any walls or buildings.

Dirk seems fine with the quiet of the outing, though he often reaches down to stroke your hair, touch your jellycaps, just remind you of his presence. That suits you fine; more than anything, you remember long hikes on human-terraformed worlds, the expanse that somehow always seemed so much larger than the expanse of space. Which made no sense, but you chalked it up to your human monkey brain stuff.

It's like that now, and you wonder what other places are around Isaura worth seeing. From what you understand of his work, you know Dirk is used to travel, to living away from home. Do the People have camping?

With a lazy kick, you spin over to face up, the grass licking at your shoulders and back. As you expected, Dirk's just a bit above, his tail waving gently as he keeps pace with you. It seems like it would be frustrating, to be capable of such speed but having to slow down for another creature's amble.

He doesn't seem perturbed, though, and just peers down at you as you stare. An inquisitive hum flutters between you.

Camping out with Dirk and the gigakopos sounds like a treat. You wonder if that'd be doable, what with all the drama with the Queenarch. Swallowing, you ask, "Dirk… could we…" You have to start at the beginning, though, so you ask, "Are you still studying me?"

That isn't what you intended to ask. You want to know if he's still _on call_ as it were, as the People's own amalgamation of James Bond and David Attenborough. But now…

You're still here, aren't you. Now that you've asked the question, it chafes against you. What if you just remind him that his work with you is over and then-- then what?

You've slowed, and Dirk matches you, dropping to join you just inside the waves of somatic grain. His answer is short, and tramples all the worry in your head: "Not really."

Not really. He's not studying you. Except in that piercing way he looks at you, brow furrowing. One hand extends, almost touching your jellycap before he stills and seems to change his mind. "Why?"

You don't know how to express the mix of nervousness and longing in your gut. But it's a beautiful day, and you can sidestep the more explicit questioning. Instead, you ask, "Do the People have camping?"

Dirk frowns. "I'm a little disappointed to hear the invaders have camping. There's no place safe from that, huh?"

Reassured with the knowledge that Dirk doesn't actually _hate_ the idea of going camping, just that he loves to complain about it, you continue on through the field, smiling to yourself.

Something is settled. And you didn't even need to bring it up to really ask. That's plum fucking perfect, you think. Already, you're thinking about what sort of places would be fun to spend some time in. Really, you've only seen the space between the invader base and Isaura. If you ask, Dirk will take you out further. You're already certain.

There's giddiness in your chest already when Dirk breaks sharply away from you and plunges like a thrown dagger into the seagrass, off a bit away from you. "Well, then!" you exclaim out of pure alarm.

It's a hilarious sight for a moment, as you watch his tail flick and wiggle around, his body shoved deep into the field. Electing to keep your distance, you stay where you are to avoid getting a wallop. His tail is beautiful, but has some girth to it.

Eventually, he curls up on the ground, sweeping a load of grass out of the way. "Jake, come here."

You paddle in to see what's got his attention.

Dirk waits until you are close, then lifts and hands off a big colorful lump.

You flail a little to grab it; it's _dense_ and a weighty thing to boot. You have to curl your arms up into a scoop to keep hold of it. Even so, you feel Dirk grab your legs, coaxing you down with him to sit.

Your wits return to you with all due haste, and you lean your head back to squint at what's been shoved at you.

The colorful lump turns around in your arms, and a little boxy ovikopos head lifts toward yours, their half-dozen little feelers wagging in your direction.

The sound you let out is not remotely dignified and is about two octaves too high. "It's a baby slug! You handed me a baby slug! Holy shitting christ!"

"Shh. They don't like loud noises," Dirk says, almost whispering.

"Um, holy shit?" you say, quieter. The ovikopos is wrapping half around one of your arms, their weird feet-analogues straddling you as they settle in. Their body is hefty as it leans on your chest, head turning back towards Dirk, feelers split between waving at you and him.

"Yeah." Dirk strokes the little slug's head with two fingers. "It's really rare to see them out and about. Normally, the tendants will collect them soon after they hatch and put them in the nursery. It's important to start socializing them early on."

"Hullo, buddy," you tell the little fat slug. "You are just the most captivating color blue, aren't you, yes you are."

"What are you doing?" He lights up, leaning in against your shoulder. An arm slides around your back, and with the way you're seated down in a little crop circle of sea grass, it all feels small and nice.

You lower the ovikopos onto your lap and rub its squishy back with both your hands. "That's how you talk to babies and animals and especially baby animals, Dirk."

"Okay," he says, sounding unconvinced.

The little guy is getting a touch jittery. You soften your touch, petting them with just one hand, slow steady strokes. "So there's a nursery full of these? That sounds like heaven."

Dirk grins faintly. "It's something. I'm given to understand it's a lot of work, training them and preparing for adoption. They don't just carry eggs, I mean, some of the People need help with errands or navigation or getting around. There's a lot involved."

You really want to blow a raspberry against them. "That sounds like pretty much the best job imaginable, if'm honest. Ovikopos ranchers. Do they have cowboy hats? They really should."

"Sure," Dirk says. He plainly doesn't follow. Still, his head rests against yours. "They're… pretty cute."

Lifting your head, you give him a sharp look, then bend over the ovikopos again. "Not sure how all the stuff here works, but if it's like volunteer shelters and the tendants might want some extra help, I'll throw my hat into the ring."

"A… cowboy hat?" Dirk asks.

"If necessary."

"I'll… pass on the message. I'm not sure myself, if they need assistance." He rubs your back, up and down your spine. "We should bring this one to one of the tendant houses."

You nod. "Sure thing. But in a little while, right?"

He exhales, stirring the soma around your shoulders and neck. "Yeah. In a while."

Whiling away your while takes some time. Long enough that the ovikopos tuckers out from all the attention and rolls up into almost a ball, sleeping across your legs. Even then, you remain clearly pinned down and unable to move at all, lest you disturb the little slug. Dragging your fingers down their back is lulling you too, until you just put a hand on their big tummy and lean against Dirk's shoulder, shutting your eyes.

When you're nudged awake, it's later in the day, and you carry the ovikopos carefully until Dirk locates a little mound house. A twin-tailed tendant takes the ovikopos from you carefully, whisking them off. Presumably to the nursery.

That taken care of, it's time to go home. You're hungry, and eager to go see _your_ slug pal. They deserve attention too, even if they aren't small and friggin' adorable.

The journey home is a blur, mostly because you aren't paying enough attention, just holding onto Dirk's shoulders and kicking your legs, following him. He handles most of the forward movement, and that's fine by you.

You're home late, and you could really use something to eat.

Before you can make a break for the food stores, you spot a bubble floating in the approximate center of the house.

When he spots it, Dirk stiffens.

"Someone…. left a message?" you ask.

Lips pressing together, Dirk reaches out and pops the bubble. Light ripples through him, his spokes and his spots together. For a second, his hand hangs in the air before slowly lowering.

"Dirk?" you ask, nervous. The feeling is wholly unwelcome. Today was so nice, goddammit, you don't want to deal with anything else right now. Just have something to eat and a movie, is that so much to ask?

Dirk looks at you slowly, and you don't like the dimness in his eyes.

Sighing out through your teeth, you manage a clipped, terse, "What?"

"Rose," Dirk says. "She wants to see both of us."

Well.

Shit.

 

* * *

 

Being summoned to see the Queenarch again is bad news. You know this mostly because Dirk's mood goes from a perfectly acceptable languid amiable calm to Panic Mode in sheer seconds.

He doesn't say anything, mind. But the low hum out of him seems involuntary and worried as he flits around. There's a few minutes when he seems to be looking for some way to delay, but comes up empty handed.

His luminous eyes fall on you, and all the spots on his chest glow rich and warm. "Hop on," he tells you.

Your heart is racing but you can't help but follow the command. His backfins are buttery soft in your fists, and if you tuck in against him, you feel hidden in the orange plumage. That helps a little.

The trip to the Queenarch's chambers is silent, but for the vibration of worry you feel from Dirk's chest. It's not exactly second nature to you yet, but you try to hum back, and rub his back in little circles. More than anything, you want to be back in that field taking a day nap. Everything seemed great then. Now… shit.

When you enter the antechamber, Dirk reluctantly pulls you off his back. Both his hands cup your face, and his spokes come to a point between you, glowing.

"Don't speak unless spoken to," Dirk says, his words weaving into an aegis, held secure in your mind. "Don't panic about anything you hear. You being safe is paramount." His fingertips tuck your hair back behind your capped ears. "Leave it to me."

You nod, and mime zipping your lips. Which, the People don't have zippers, so the meaning is probably lost on Dirk. For once he's too nervy to say anything about it. Just takes your hand in a firm grip and pulls you along, up into the Queenarch's chambers.

It's again, dark. You don't know why; she's already pulled this big reveal on you before. Is she fixing to do it again? Does she do the creepy appear-from-the-shadows thing every time anyone comes to see her? You never understood the whole goth thing.

Dirk guides you up onto the platform and drops you there before just swimming up, higher. "Rose," he calls, sounding pretty fearless for such a terrified fellow.

Of course, there's coiling and rippling movement in the darkness to answer him. "What did we say," the Queenarch purrs through the inky black, "about summons?"

"God forbid I take a day to myself," Dirk answers tartly. "I thought you and Roxy were figuring everything out fine without me."

"Yes," she says. The narrow threads of seathrall kindle like candle flame, and begin to illuminate Rose's body. She's not quite on the ceiling this time, more slouched regally against the wall, propped up on a throne of her own tentacle-y making. "Our plans did accelerate nicely once we were allowed to put them together without interruption."

Dirk's tail thrashes irritably, and his arms cross over his chest. "Then I'm further thrown by your sudden summons, Queenarch. Unless you've turned a corner and wish for some further insight now?"

"No." She flicks a giant hand dismissively. "We've got the plan all figured out. It's time to set it into motion. Our tactical boon of being unknown to the invaders _will_ run out, and our little plot with the invader breathing apparatus definitely startled that slow drowsy chromatir into movement."

"Then... " Dirk spread his hands out in a universal symbol of _so what now?_

Her fingers steeple over her chest, and in unison all her ring marks on her tentacles shift in an intricate dance from one shape to the next to the next. You have to blink hard to make yourself stop staring.

"Pre-emptive strike, of course. Leaving the invaders to their devices until they discover our location would be polishing the spear meant to pierce our own heart. The security troll had so many useful pieces for us to play with. Enough to hone a perfect three-step plan of instigated disorder." She grins, flashing her teeth. "An arpeggio of chaos that builds on itself to a crescendo and leaves them catatonic before us."

"Sounds great," Dirk says. "What's the actual plan?"

Multiple tentacles uncurl and stretch out, too many and too large for you to keep your eyes on all at once. "A human invader had this delightful little parable in their mind. The prodigal son, a wandering soul returned to their home. But here, we'll catalyze him before sending him back to his people."

She's talking about you, you realize about a half-second after Dirk does. In part because he ignites in amber light, crown lofty and pointed. "Rose, respectfully, I fucking told you to find a different plan, _any_ other plan!"

"This is the best plan with the lowest risk!"

"Still pretty significant risk!"

The sensation of panic wells in you for just a second. Going home, she means back to the _COO_ , not back to your little floating sphere. You will never complain about wanting to go on a trip ever again if you can just be back there in the soft grass with Snug leaning on you, just--

But your safety is important. It's alright. The panic drains out of you as you sit there on the platform, shaking it out of your head slowly.

"You are blinded from the strategic brilliance by your own emotions," Rose says, almost gentle about it. "Even in the highly unlikely scenario where he's apprehended, do you expect they will carve him up and devour him? He has been missing. Recovering him will be a victory for them. He would be taken care of. But that's all completely moot since it won't _happen_."

"We don't know how they're going to react--"

Rose tips her head to the side. "I kind of do."

"--and I don't want to take the risk, so let's just-- call in Roxy and weave up something better."

"Roxy is already busy with preparations elsewhere. And Dirk." She looks apologetic for a moment. Hugely apologetic. "We're doing this. And, thus, I have to do this."

One tentacle swings in from the wall, impossibly swift given its size. It collides with Dirk's back and throws him forward, close enough that the tensile glowing threads grab his tail and one of his arms.

There's a sharp vicious shiver of vibration through the soma as he reacts, trying to twist away. Then, more threads grab him, one even lassoing together his spokes. With each one, he twitches and stills further, the lavender soft glow of the Queenarch drowning out Dirk's hot amber.

Rose sighs. "Speaking of predictable things. I don't know why he doesn't believe me. I've never given reason for this much reluctance. Oh, well."

She passes Dirk from one group of threads to the next, until he's floating, caught in a web, mouth lax and open, eyes bright but unfocused.

"You are being a very patient little pet," she tells you, and plucks you up next. The tip of her tentacle scoops under you, and you steady yourself on the seat as she draws you in. "What did he leave planted in that garden to keep you so sweet?"

You have enough wherewithal to lean back from the threads as they grow closer. It does no good; she just carries you into their reach, and they immediately catch and curl around you. With each one, the light in your mind ignites and grows bright and brighter, blinding.

"Now," the Queenarch says from somewhere inside the sun-glow that is washing over you. "Would you like to hear The Plan?"

 

* * *

 

There's not a very large window to work with. The invaders contact their domina every three days and remain in contact for several hours. It's important to execute The Plan before that deadline, or the entire situation may reach a disaster state. No one wants that. The Queenarch especially does not want that. If this can be done bloodlessly, or even _painlessly_ , she would be pleased.

But to do that, everything must fall into place. The next orbital alignment is due in about two days. That is plenty of time. But it's important to keep deadlines in mind, especially such dire deadlines. Ones that could potentially live up to their grim moniker.

But that will not happen. The Queenarch has nothing but confidence in you. You are not simply a kept, adorable enormous cuddlepode. You have potential. You have intelligence. There are such plans for you. Not Plans, or not yet, but plans, certainly.

Anyway.

There are two important structural features of the Calypso Observation Station to keep in the forefront of your mind.

First: The invader base is entirely modular. Any single floating building can be separated from the rest. It was apparently built this way; each piece constructed separate, than attached to the rest.

Second: Any single floating building can become a sinking building. All of them use the same floatation and submersive systems.

Tertiary to the above points, but still fairly vital to know: The buildings can be submerged from two locations. Every building has its own controls that allow it to be lowered into the ocean. Also, the security center has control over any and all buildings.

Acquiring the security center is vital. But, as one might predict, it is filled with security personnel. They need to be removed first. There are many places that are considered important enough to garner a full redirection of security.

It is easy to ascend onto the spaceport platform from the ocean. It also, by necessity, has its own closed control system. Ergo, if you climb onto it and lower it into the ocean, pertinent invaders will come running. That should be adequate time for you to move to the security center and take it, lower it into the ocean and into the People's grasp.

From there, everything will go perfectly and others will take over for you, and you can go relax as they handle the rest of the work. It's just that tricky problem with the People not being skilled at above-soma traversal and respiration. But you are perfect, and will be fine.

You have the Queenarch's word.

And so, you go.

 

* * *

 

Roxy gives you a ride in her selotir, the soma rushing through your hair. Sitting squashed with her, a few of her tentacles wrap around you, loose and subtle enough you can forgive them. The one that's rubbing up and down your leg, probably less so, but still.

You have a lot going on in your mind. It feels like every time you blink, there is lavender smoke waiting for you. If you inhale, you can almost taste it in the soma, and it spreads through you.

Blinking slowly, you look around, and out from the selotir basket. There are other people following you, in their various steeds. Too many to count, as they shift around, fall to the back of the pack then swap positions. Rubbing your eyes, you slump against the basket wall. "Is… When will…"

"Not too long," Roxy tells you brightly. "Lucky you, 'pode, riding with one of _the_ fastest racers in Isaura!"

"Oh, no, uh…" You lick your lips, expecting to taste… something. With each blink, the smoke mirage vanishes a little more. "Dirk. I mean Dirk."

Roxy gives you an utterly besotted look and another two tentacles stroke you. "Aw, Jake. Yeah, he'll be along. Rose is just holding him back until we get this first part down. When you're safe and back, she'll spring him. It's for the best, trust me. Dirk can tie his tail in knots over nothing."

If that's the case, you want to get through this as quickly as you can.

There is no way to further speed the journey. You have Roxy's reassurance that you'll be there soon. That's it. All around, the soma shifts with the rising of the moons. These sorts of clandestine operations are best done at night, from what you hear.

The Plan comes to your mind, and with it a fear that you will not be able to do this. But it is swiftly subsumed under a reassuring tide that comes over you. This is going to be fine. All you have to do is emulate an agent provocateur from one of those slow-moving bubble-less stories you like so much.

That, you think, is well within your wheelhouse.

Your ride ends as Roxy takes a wide loop around the COO and its surrounding reef.

The reef is somehow more beautiful than you remember. You're not sure if the original outpost selected this location to build the COO or if they lucked out with their initial touch down on Paleraphon. But even after living among the People, the reef is a breathtaking sight, like an organic glowing carpet on top of a steep hill. From down here, riding through the ocean, you can barely see the COO; it's some distant opal ornament floating a good measure above the reef.

Roxy trails out from the COO, keeping your distance. You've not explored this side, over by the spaceport. It's not as pretty, but there's more cover, some clouds of foam that has its own shine, so it must be somehow alive?

The important part is that Roxy finds a place to park her selotir, and she gives you a tight hug. "Once you submerge the security center, we'll swoop in, okay?" She pats your head. "See you soon."

Behind you, in the distance, more of the People are arriving. But you have time.

Now: aim and ignite.

You climb out of the basket, foot pressed against the side to heave you up and out. Her tentacles slough off one by one, tucking back up with the rest. Once they have, you grab one of the support lines of the basket and lean over to pat her head, fingers light against the floaty pink fins up there.

She hums with delight, and shoves you out of the basket.

You sink for a moment, then start swimming.

Calm, you are reminded as you come over the crest of the reef. Ahead, you can see the full illumination from the reef flowing up and from the COO itself, flooding down. The difference in light is stark and weird, like the uncanny valley of a plastic wig. You stick out your tongue in disdain, and squint past the artificial lamps.

In the far distance, you can see where the lido deck must be. It's on the other side of the facility from you.

What's much closer is the outward spoke of the spaceport, floating away from the rest of the COO, connected by its glass bridge. A lifetime ago, you walked across it.

Now, you swim around under it, and bob to the surface to get a better look.

Air sneaks into your mouth. The taste is weird, and you drag your tongue against your teeth, as if that'll scrape off the flavor. But no, you're going to need to retry the whole breathing air thing.

You vaguely remember the trick, and duck under the soma once more. Indulging in one big breath, you hold it, then breath the whole thing out, pushing it out of your lungs.

Then, you surface, and take a gulp of air. Still weird, but it's like riding a bike. You inhale steadily as you drag yourself along towards the smooth outside ring of the platform.

Unlike most of the COO, the spaceport isn't a spherical building. Just a wide, oblong floatie with some small booths to protect the technicians during landing and takeoff.

You look up at it as you approach. There is a ladder nearby. This location is so far from the proper egress points into the ocean, it has to have an emergency option, even if it clashes with the decor, that egg nest aesthetic the whole joint's going for.

If you hum a specific spy flick theme tune as you close in on the ladder, no one is around to hear it.

The grip on the ladder is awkward with your webbing, but you manage by adjusting how you grasp the rungs. Even stranger is the moment when your body leaves the soma.

You gasp, and hook an arm through the ladder as your whole body gives a _shake_. This is weird. This is so weird, and you're so _heavy_ now. When you get your feet out of the soma, you half-expect them to just be too weak and to give out and drop you like a stone back into the ocean.

That would almost be better. But you have explored Paleraphon by working your gams every day, kicking and bracing on things to leap off. When you scale the ladder and try to push yourself up with your legs, they don't fail you, and you get a knee on the solid ground of the platform.

You made it up. Glancing behind yourself, you confirm that yes, you are out of the ocean. Given how easy the next step is supposed to be, you think maybe getting out of the soma was the hardest part, and now its passed.

The beauty of the ladder placement is that it's near one of the booths that controls some functions of the platform. That is where you will find the submersion controls.

The pressure of your weight on every step you take is almost novel, and you stumble a few times as you pad damply across the spaceport. There are lights over on the landing pad, aimed at the center of the platform, but otherwise only the walking paths are lit. You travel in relative darkness to the controls.

Outside the glow of your jellycaps, but that's a necessary precaution. They are cranked to the max, and put off quite a bit of light. As such, you cover them with your hands and hurry along.

The booth is mostly open to the air, just covered in shield generators, ready to activate in event of a landing. They would draw a lot of attention, so you leave them be and instead beeline for the console.

It's the usual CrockerCorp make, with hospital white fittings and big red buttons and screens and controls. You've heard in the past that the dedication to their color scheme makes the Batterwitch hard to work for, and you would agree if you had to navigate this thing.

Thankfully, you know which dial controls submersion. And you know the security passcode for it, plucked out of the mind of that troll invader. The person who went through the invader's mind was thorough, thank the stars.

You punch in the code and turn the dial a few clicks. Five minutes. Five minutes should be enough time for you to get back in the soma and swim over to your next waypoint. When the platform starts to submerge, alarms will go off, and you'll know it's time to take on the security center.

That is **The Plan.**

What is not The Plan is the footsteps behind you and the harsh voice that calls at you.

Now, the words called at you don't…. make a lot of sense, especially not in the heat of the very hectic, vital moment. You've gotten a lot better at understanding English again with the help of subtitles on your films, but Alternian's not quite there yet. You could decipher it if you had to.

But lucky you, that's not The Plan. The Queenarch was prepared for this. She had to, if she was sending you in alone to the stronghold of the invaders.

You turn to face the invader who has stumbled across you and lower your hand from your jellycaps. The glow is intense; Rose made sure of that. A stroke of genius on her part; anyone on this base that laid eyes upon the amphoria would be mesmerized by their glow, for at least long enough you could escape. After all, you only needed to do a handful of tasks and you were done. It was a foolproof solution, brilliant in its simplicity.

However.

Instead of going all docile and slackjawed as advertised, the invader remains there. They're a troll, wearing colored glasses, which strikes you as more than a mite weird at this hour. Surely only douchebags wear shaded lenses at night?

They are in a pilot's casual uniform, and are lanky, taller than you by a head but probably weighing less than you even soaking wet. They lean in towards you, and flap their gums again…

Shit. It's hard, because there's no hum! It's just a string of words, and you don't quite know what the order is without the rise and fall of the subvocal hum cluing you in. Cripes, you were fluent in this once?

You tilt your head at them. Maybe they didn't notice your beautiful amber earlamps?

Now that you are stuck with a troll between you and the door, you have no choice but to focus on what they're saying.

With great concentration, you find the right frequency on your mental radio, and meaning emerges from the brain static. "Are you hearing anything I'm saying? Hello? What the fuck is going on with this shithole planet, Aradia's out of her fucking skull about this shithole slurry-soaked rock, it's driving people more stupid than they already are. Hey!" The troll steps forward and reaches up to touch their glasses. "Where did you get those earphones… they look awesome."

The seathrall is not working. You do not know how to make it work.

And the troll is touching their glasses at the edge and-- oh. You can see as they step closer they are a mix of hard human tech set into an Alternian biotech that seems to be pushing into the guy's skin, maybe even further.

Oh fuck, fuck, you might be fucked. This troll is blind.

"Hey," they say slowly, and the pronounced lisp they have isn't making things any easier on your brain, but _oh shit._ "Are you that MySpace tool that went missing? What the shit, Aradia said they looked everywhere for-- uuuuh, are you fucking naked?"

You squeak, and try to look around for an exit but this was not part of **_The Plan_** and there isn't any other way out of the booth!

Frantic, you try to reach for the… the place where the lavender smoke lurks, in case it might help you, but psychically dredging your own mind is not a hobby of yours and you have no idea.

The troll presses another button on the console, and when they speak, it's not to you. "Heeey, sorry to interrupt whoever has their filthy shitkickers up on the desk as they sleep through the nocturnal shift over there, but that famous tourist you lost has unlost himself and he's naked over here and looking rattled in the fucking brain envelope if you wanna hurry up."

You need to get out of here, the entire Plan is bushwhacked. This fellow isn't exactly a heavyweight. If you just got a run-up, you could…

But it's vital that no one get hurt. They're all of Paleraphon now. You reach up and rub your forehead. Rose swore you would be okay. But you can't hurt one of the invaders. Especially one that, frankly, you could trounce in a scrum.

Some of the things in your mind are rubbing up against each other and building charge. It's creating an uncomfortable feeling _in your head_ , but you can't do anything, can't reach in to fix them or stop them.

There is a whimper from your mouth as you rub your face. Shit… what… what do you do?

While you try and unhook the two incompatible thoughts, more footsteps file in. You can't see through the lavender smoke, it's so thick.

Then, something sharp touches you, and you don't see the smoke. You don't see anything for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rose: well it was ALMOST a perfect plan
> 
> sorry for chapter delay. i fucked up my left arm for like a solid week and could not use it for fucking anything. it was hell. i was so bored.
> 
> also i want a baby ovikopos now.


	13. the landscape after cruelty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up for some Unfun Medical Stuff, as oblique as possible

There is a medical area to the COO. It is in the subfloor under the Bubble hotel, in the section that lives undersoma, out of the way, probably to keep any sign of injury and sickness contained away from the tourists.

You know this, because that is where you wake up. It's a strange place; the curved window shows off the glowing reef, and the refracting somatic light butts up into the white plastic light of the clinic room.

Head laying against your cheek, you can see the glow. It's calming.

What's significantly less calming is that you are not alone. People are walking around you, circling the table you're on. A gloved hand presses against your neck, fanning your new collar, and you jerk your arm to stop them.

Your arm doesn't move. You roll your head to look at it. There's a softly glowing field around your forearm, another around your bicep. They have you restrained to the table.

Also your brain feels like soup. You squeeze your eyes shut and open them again, trying to move everything into focus.

"Waking finally," someone says. A troll with long peaked horns bends and leans into your line of sight. "Hiiii there, Mr. English! You just lay still, we need to assess the fishuation you've got yourself in! But it's gonna be okay!"

Her high-pitched voice hurts your sore head. You groan and try to move away from it, but there's nowhere to go.

"Whoops, sorry!" She lowers her voice a bit, thank god. "Just excited you're back. Big fan of your vids!"

That's… so absurd, you start laughing. First, giggles, then an almost hysterical noise. Your eyes are watering, and when you feel a pinch against your collar fins, you try to knock them away with your knee.

"Just a sample, Mr. English, easy there."

 _That's not yours,_ you think peevishly at them and hum angrily, forced to be still as they poke and prod you.

"Long term somatic exposure?"

"Can't be. We did month-long submersions with multiple subjects!"

"Well, that was in a lab setting. And maybe the…. the jellyfish things, they're…"

"What? They're modifying physical traits of the host? The marine team's cataloged hundreds of different jellyfish, and none of them did _that_."

"Maybe call one of them in? Who's on duty, Megido?"

"Ping her. Until then, should we start extraction?"

"Shell no! Not until we have a consult. Let's just… Just for now! Until we know how to deal with him!"

You turn your head to try and see what the plan is _just for now_ but the seadweller touches her tablet a few times, and something flows into your veins, and you go dark inside again.

Perhaps it's sleep, but it doesn't feel like it. What happens is just a loss of time and understanding before you return again. Before vision, you're moving, because somewhere in your hindbrain you recognize you can move again, and that's significant. So, you roll onto your side and push until your legs skip off the side of the table and to the floor. Impact hurts a little, and leaves you awkwardly stretched from the floor to up to your arms grasping the lab table.

You heave a breath, and cough when it comes a little too fast. Air is such a right pain in the backside now. Nothing is more awkward than bruising your windpipe around a gulp of too much breath.

Jury-rigging your body until your legs are properly under you takes a moment. Then, finally, you push to standing, and shove yourself away from table.

Upright, you stagger over to the far wall, the glass that separates you from the ocean. Some fish flit by, a few ribbon racers that make your chest clench.

Pushing on the glass, it feels solid. Which, given it's the underside of a floating building, it should be.

Maybe you can smash it? You turn around and look.

The examination table is solid, built directly into the floor. The monitoring equipment is housed above it, safely kept inside a half-sphere that hangs down from the ceiling, and doubles as a lamp besides, more of that artificial light.

No wonder you're left to wander around. There's _nothing_ you can mess with here.

Outside, the sun is rising. You can tell just from the way the soma shifts hues. Biting your lip, you press your palms against the glass, forehead to the sloping curve. There is so much light out there. You squint against it, trying to find… something. Rainbow colors flow into each other like syrup mixing with honey.

Your eyes catch a few times, but… you can't focus enough to figure out what's doing it. That's part of the trouble of being so far downstream, it seems. Can't tell what's just a really pretty somatic cloud and what's a proper seathrall.

As you are puzzling this out, the door chimes, and opens. Pivoting around, you look.

Three invaders come in. Two are pulling in some sort of heavy piece of equipment, moving it close to the examination table. They extract a cord from the ceiling and plug the device in.

Completely unconcerned with helping them is Dr. Megido. She stalks right around the table to stand in the space between it and you.

"Careful, Aradia," the bubbly troll from before says quickly. "He's a little addled."

She doesn't respond to that, just stares at you. Returning the favor, you wait for her to say something.

"You've got some jellyfish in your ears," she finally says in that particular flat tone of hers. "Doesn't that sting?"

You shake your head and slowly get to your feet. Finally, you notice you're wearing scrubs. Only the trousers, though; they all seem very confused about the rest of you. "Uhm. No." You reach up and rub one of your jellycaps, giving a little sigh at the hum of reaction. It's reassuring. "They help."

Slowly, Aradia approaches you. The urge to shy away is strong, but that probably wouldn't help your case. Besides, you don't have many places to go.

She holds out a hand, palm up. Her fingers flick. Oh.

You place one of your hands in hers, and she immediately uses her thumb to coax your fingers apart. One claw traces the V of your webbing, and her face pinches in a perplexed expression. Taking hold with both her hands, she pulls the webbing close, squinting at it, tilting you this way and that.

"This… how did this happen? This isn't human skin." She leans in so close her nose bumps against you, looking at the point where the webbing meets skin. "There is an incision here." She presses it with her clawtip and you twitch. "What did this? This--" she lifts her head and her voice, looking back to the other two. "This is not a _mutation_ , Feferi, did you even look?"

The other troll pouts. "Hey, I came for your expert ofinion, Aradia!"

Next, she looks at your new collar, using those same careful clawtips to pull some of the scale cuts up, revealing the glimmering green beneath. They aren't as impressive in the hospital light, but her eyes still widen. "The uniform incisions along the neck and shoulders are obviously some sort of-- of ornate modification." She glances up at you. "Do they function?"

You blink at her, the question processing slowly. "They… are pretty?"

"They're… something, that's for certain." She follows them back, putting a hand on your bicep to keep you from turning to follow her.

You feel her touch your skin stripe and suck in a breath. "Wow. Okay. Did we take a sample of this?"

The human doctor invader walks over to see what she's indicating. He gasps. "The fuck is that?"

"Take a small sample. I'll compare it to the full library, see if I can pull a match." You shiver as she rubs the stripe. "It… glows. It's-- what is it? It's not layered over his skin, it's… replacing it? This is also extremely not a mutation pattern, Feferi."

Feferi just sighs loudly and doesn't answer.

They pinch your skin, but you put up with it. You aren't sure what else to do, and Aradia is being kind about it all, at least. It's better than being lashed down to a table, anyway.

"Okay. Now." She circles back to face you, but her eyes are lifted, up to your ears.

When she reaches up, you finally lean back, away. "Don't. I mean, uh, don't? Please?" You are not too keen on having someone feel them up, all things considered.

She holds up her palms and doesn't move. "Well. If I can't examine them… can I take pictures of them? Will you let me do that?"

Speak of the fucking devil, she gestures to the table, and the machine nearby.

You don't want to do this. But even more, you don't want her to touch them. So, shoulders slumped, you walk over to it at your own volition.

It's cold under you as you lay down, even through the scrubs. You have to wiggle around to settle into place around the middle. Having the doctors over you is a little menacing, but you shake through a deep breath and try to hold still.

Feferi smiles widely at you and taps a spot on the table. "Wrist here. We don't want you wiggling around and mucking up the scan."

You enjoy that even less, but Aradia gives you a little nod, curt and smileless. It helps, and you let them put the restraints back on.

The human starts pressing things on the panel of the machine they brought in. Aradia watches for a moment. "Right. Give me that." She holds out her hand, and they give her something. Her attention drops back to you. "Jake. Normally, we'd bring up bracers to hold your head still for this process, but… your jellyfish are in the way. So I need you to try to keep looking upward and not move too much, okay?"

You've had scans before. "Sure."

"Thanks." She presses something against your mouth. "Open and close."

You bite down on the mouth guard and sigh. It tastes like plastic, and your lips fit weird around it. Ugh.

The actual scanning process is simple. You feel nothing, just hear the machine whine as the doctors step back, out of range. It clicks once, then whines. Clicks, then whines. Clicks again, and one more mechanical sound of exertion.

None of the doctors come back to your side. Bending your head awkwardly back, you can see them all clustered around the display panel.

Feferi has her hands over her mouth. The human bloke looks pale.

Aradia looks steely, her fingers flicking against the display, presumably through the scans.

"Radi," Feferi murmurs, softly.

Aradia spits something, vicious and cold, jabbing a finger at the screen. It's Alternian, and you puzzle through it. Something about depth.

Something like "Wait for CrockerCorp," from Feferi.

Aradia shoots her an acidic look. "We don't know the progression of this, when it was implanted, how quickly its integration works. Sorry for the human French, but fuck CrockerCorp."

Already, Feferi is nodding along, and pulling out her tablet. She presses a few buttons, and more contraptions come out of the ceiling dome, equipment lowered on sturdy arms.

One of them, it's too fast to see who, steps to the head of the table and fits something over your eyes. It's dark as squid ink where it sits above your face, and you jerk, trying to roll it off your face so you can see again.

"Sorry," Aradia says, sounding rushed. "You're going to have to trust me here, this is an emergency."

It takes a half-second for you to realize she's talking to you. That's enough time for them to somehow-- your head won't move? Grunting, you try to shift, but from your neck up, you cannot budge a millimeter. Trying to spit the mouth guard is just as futile; your jaw is sore, locked. Uncomfortable.

You pull up a leg, and hook your heel around the edge of the table. "Legs!"

Someone tugs you back into place, and locks you down.

The hum out of your throat is instinctive and loud. You don't have the same subvocal organs as the People, but you're fucking trying, calling out in distress. What are they doing? Aradia has always been brusquely nice, what is she doing?

The thing about the force restraints is they don't _feel_ like anything. Just pressure. Nothing actually holding you in place, simply points where you can't move. It's vexing as shit and you try to find the place where you might be able to squirm out of their domineering control. No luck, nothing.

Then, there's new pressure. "Beginning," Feferi says. "Starboard first."

Aradia sighs loudly.

But you don't hear anything past that, nor really understand what's going on. There is just an intense feeling of _wrong_ against your right ear, the pressure inward increasing. It skips right past the interesting and fun pressure level that you abuse so much when you're alone, and into something that feels like tightening a balloon in a vice. You hum louder, so much your throat feels weird from all the vibration.

Then something gets through, and you _feel_ something in your ear for the first time in… a long time. Not just a phantom feeling but something solid that moves around.

Feferi says something, tense and grit-toothed. The thing spins, touching the inside of your ears delicately.

Then it pulls, and the fullness in your ear goes out with it. You feel the tendrils of the cap as they pull out of your ear and expand again out of the compressed space.

You feel capsized, so intensely teetered, like a ship sinking, taking on water. It's horrible. It's the absolute reverse of when Dirk gently pushed the caps into you, and even worse is the fading numbness.

When you start to really _feel_ again, it hurts. Oh shitting fuck, it hurts, it hurts like your brain's been sandblasted, why, what did they do, _why the fuck did they do it_.

"Shock, that's shock, dose him now!" Aradia.

"It's better if--" Feferi.

"Don't care, you'll work without. Dose him!"

Black.

 

* * *

 

The floor is heated gently under you as you sit cross-legged on the floor with your back to the room and facing the ocean.

At some point, you were asleep. Now, you come back to awareness already upright. It's chilly enough you adjust and tuck your bare feet as far under your legs as you can, just for extra warmth. The air is not like soma; it does not heat around you. Dragging your palms up and down your arms helps a little bit.

As awareness bleeds into you like water through a cracked mug, you frown. There is a slight reflection on the surface of the glass. You can see your own vague shape, and see there is something wrapped around your head.

Touching it, you find a medical wrap around your head, band like a crown. It lays over your ears, which are padded somehow.

Like pricking your finger on a thorn, that thought makes you grimace and hunch forward. Your head hurts. It's a low, constant throb. As someone who's gotten himself into some jams before, you think that throb is just the painkiller-deadened remnant of something quite a bit more substantial. Oh, yes, you can feel the slugginess now that you're trying to think through it. Trudging through cobwebs, you trace things with your fingers, trying to figure out what happened.

Your jellycaps are gone. That's… No. Why?

Pressing your hands over the band where it sits over your ears makes you hurt. Not just in your head. There's sharp things pressing down on you, a tension that is at war with your skin, and you hum softly, wanting an answer, someone to help you. Even stringing thoughts together feels dangerous and painful. Words are dipped in poison. You want to handle them carefully.

On top of that, it feels like some part of you was yanked loose. Not just the caps stolen from their place, but other things. You pet the wrap protecting your ears and hum louder.

You don't hear it. You can't hear anything right now, just _feel_ the vibration in your throat.

You also don't hear anyone approaching, and startle badly when Aradia steps up to you and lowers herself to the floor next to you.

Humming lifts in pitch; you only know from the feeling. Aradia's eyes are not so hard now. There's softness to her face as she joins you and gives you a little wave. Her lips move, forming words.

You don't-- no, there's nothing. You shake your head.

She doesn't seem surprised by this, and pulls out her tablet from a holster against her back. Setting it on her lap, she taps at the screen, then turns it around towards you.

That's…. letters. You open your mouth to sound them out, but it-- it-- there's something, it's wrenched loose, the connection's broken, the operator dropped the plug and it's just merrily swinging. Pressing your hands to your head, you hum your agitation at her, hum how much you don't understand! And you don't remember a lot, but you are fair certain that's her fault!

But invaders don't understand humming. No, why would they have something to blasted useful, something that protects you from glass shard words, all tricky and jagged. You swallow and blurt out, "I told you they were useful, I don't know what possessed you to take them! What the sam hill do I do now?"

Aradia tilts her head, expression tight as she listens. When you're done, she types something new on the tablet and puts it in your hands.

Fine. You're stuck on this side of the universe, away from the ocean, so you grit your teeth-- then immediately stop because _jumping jack flash, that hurts,_ the increase in pressure is a pick in your skull, fuck. You drop the tablet in your lap and hold your fingers to your jaw, unclenching.

Aradia winces sympathetically and lifts a hand like she's going to touch you, only to stop. Good.

When you manage to get a grip, you sigh and look down at the tablet.

Letters. Right. This is not what you want to do. The window to home is calling, and you just want to keep staring out in hopes of… of something, a sign that you have not been _left_. Dirk would not stand for you being abandoned! But also, last you saw him was in the Queenarch's grasp.

You run the heel of your hand over your eyes and focus. Letters.

It feels like walking down a garden path with a third of the stones completely rough and covered in dirt. Finding your way takes time.

_The things you are saying don't make sense. Do you know what language that is?_

"Paleraphone," you say. You can't hear yourself. "You broke my ears."

Her chest moves with a sigh, and she taps the frame of the tablet.

Fine. It takes a while, with you having to piece everything together from what feels like a vocabulary sitting in a pile like children's build-a-blocks. You sift through them, testing each verb and noun until you can fit them in.

_My head hurts. Everything is out of place. I can't hear anything._

She takes the tablet, and her face creases into a deep frown. It takes her a long moment to touch the screen again, and as she types, she does not look at you.

She hands it back, and ugh. Why.

You eventually decipher things, taking every sentence and just remembering each disparate word. Then you can jumble their order until they make sense.

Ergo:

_There was something connecting to delicate tissue in your head. We had to remove it. The hearing loss will be corrected when you are sent to the orbital station._

You finish puzzling that out and gape at her. She meets your eyes, but her pupils flick to the side a few times, out at the ocean. Nervous.

She takes the tablet from you before you can respond, and types again. Hands it back.

_What did this to you? What is out in the soma?_

Fuck that. You still have to hunt out the words and drop them together, and you suspect they might not be in the right order for invaders, but she's a smart cookie, she'll figure it out.

You push the tablet back.

_I can't leave. Need to stay here. If you can't fix this mess, toss me back out onto the ocean. I'll be fine._

Aradia accepts your message, and her sad face goes a little surly. Red eyes fix to yours for just a beat of time, then she taps away.

It's a fast message.

_What is out there?_

"Not tellin' you," you mutter, and wave off the tablet when she tries to push it back onto your knee. "No, thanks, I'm fine." Drawn like the tide, you look back to the window, to the soma. There are so many lights. Which one is the right one?

They wouldn't leave you.

They would _not_ leave you. A Queenarch keeps her word. And you are of Paleraphon now.

Aradia taps the tablet against your shoulder a few times. When you try your best to ignore her, she plants her hand on the floor and pushes back to her feet. Fine. Good riddance. You thought she was-- it doesn't matter anymore.

You rub over your ears, wincing.

But she doesn't leave yet. Instead, she stomps around to stand in front of you, between you and your longing aching view.

So primed, she leans down, and holds the tablet in front of your face, her grip tight on either side of the device.

_Orbital alignment is tomorrow morning. Shuttle will take off the moment it's clear. We are helping you. You will tell us what happened._

When you finish, you look up at her. Her face is a confused rictus of emotion, as difficult to decipher as the letters and words. Arms shaking, she tucks the tablet back away and stares down at you for a long moment before she leaves you.

You, with the ocean.

You lay against the slope of the window, careful not to put pressure on your ruined ears as you watch outward.

There's no other option. You have to get out of this. If you get whisked back up to CrockerCorp, sure Jane will ensure you are fixed up and patched, but after? After, there is nothing that will keep you safe from her desire to know what happened to you. Your zipped lips are the key to the People's safety.

You could think about the alternative: what would happen if Jane understood the degree to which her little resort dream was pipesmoke.

But… you hurt. Your mind feels like several parts of it have been yanked out. So screw it.

You watch the glimmering soma, and wait.

You are waiting a long time. The sun lifts into the sky, and behind you, somewhere, it sets. In that time, one of the doctor's bring you food. All edible with your fingers, no utensils.

This is patently absurd to you. They think you're, what, going to break your spoon into a shiv and leap upon them? Please. You weren't the one who took the useful good things forcefully out of their ears and locked them up. Pah.

You take your food back to the window and resume your watch.

Elbows on your knees, you watch the shift of the soma from its daylight hues to the richness of the evening. The moons rise, and you can just see them through the licking surface of the ocean.

You like the punchy warm tones in the soma in the evening, how it's such a weird contrast with what night and day mean abovesoma. You like slow evenings, watching a movie and waiting for bedtime to roll its way in. Cuddling in close and feeling big hands stroke your spine.

Hands against the glass, your breath fogs it. You scrub it away for a clearer view. You're running out of time. Rose knows it! The deadline is a little more serious for you in particular now that there's a shuttle seat with your name on it, but it's the same deadline!

The vigil is exhausting, and your eyes slide half shut. There is perfectly decent hospital table behind you. A pillow has been provided.

But you don't know if you can sleep without this light now. What would your Gran think? Grown man, needing a gentle nightlight to soothe the rough edges of his mind.

Out there, there are pulses of rich color. You let them lull you.

When you stir, it's with hope. You think you see velvet through your closed eyes, and open them expecting lavender like witch smoke.

Your head fucking _aches_ , and it takes precious seconds for your eyes to focus on anything other than the ambient glow of the reef.  Which is all well and good, but…

What might be worse than the thing with your ears is the crick in your neck. Sure, you wanted to get home, but now you had to brace your body so bloody carefully to ease up and back to sitting, lest the charlie horse looming over you leap down and slam its mighty hooves on you.

The moons are gone. The horizon is bleeding with the start of new hues. Oh. That's probably what it was. The warm tones shifting back to cool.

You drooled a bit on the glass. You decide to pretend not to notice, and get slowly to your feet. Maybe if you're good and lay on the table, they'll give you another dose of painkillers, hell's pealing bells.

One step, and one soft hum.

Then, the world rocks.

You are slammed onto your side before you even understand that gravity has bowed to something more powerful. Luckily, you land on your shoulder and not on your head, but you are down.

 _Down_ changes. It rolls around like a drunkard, and flops over against the wall. You slip, and slide along the floor, letting out a screech of panic as you glide down towards the wall.

The table is attached. You grab it, and pull yourself onto it as the building sways further and further, toppling. Through your shock, you notice flashing lights. Alarms are going off, outside your hearing. The Bubble _shudders,_ jolt then rebound. Jolt then rebound. The… the bridges, maybe? Snapping?

You cling to the table and look around.

Behind you, now above you, is the window.

It is obscured by a broad black lash. And… a round fleshy thing pressed against the glass. You stare at it in awe at the size and _weirdness_ of it. What the hell is that?

The black thing twists, and another round thing attaches to the glass. Suckers. Suction cups.

Heart soaring, you want to go and pound your fists on the wall. But you are quite occupied where you are, holding on for dear life as the Bubble is manipulated like a bath toy.

The building shudders a few more times, seemingly at random. You look around, as if there will be some clue if you spot the right inch of ceiling or wall at the right time. But you also want to just stare at the shifting patterns on the tentacle slapped to the window, just for a familiar sight.

The Bubble feels about ready to pop from the rollercoast ride. Eventually, there's a _bang_ so loud you feel it in your bones, and you peer over the edge of the table.

You immediately have to duck as the door pops right off, knocked through, ignoring the opening mechanism. It clatters somewhere. When you dare to peak again, an enormous tentacle is squishing its way in, malleable and bending through the gap, which was clearly not crafted with giant octopoded People in mind.

It shoves its way further in, its tip waving around.

When you dare, you reach down, extending your arm as far as humanly possible, and wait until it drags against your tippy fingertips.

The tentacle stills, and pushes up, towards you. Eventually it's in range for you to close your hand around it and squeeze, holding on.

Sinuous in that particular way, the tip remains in your grasp as the rest unrolls upward, curling around your arm. It's heavy, and you grab it with your other hand. That does something, and the tentacle pushes up to wrap one loop around your shoulders and back. It tugs, and you… have to trust that its not going to drop you. That would hurt.

Your hips slip off the edge of your perch, you fall about a foot before you're caught. Legs circling the girth, you cling like a koala. The tentacle readjusts to press against your back, securing you.

Then, it lowers, retracts. You keep your head down, wanting to avoid getting a whallop off some upturned architecture. There's halls and inlaid lights and windows pressed against the ocean when they definitely aren't meant to be.

Pulled out of the air like a fish on a line, you submerge, soma closing around you.

Breathing out hard, you inhale, and soma rushes into place. That alone, that's a cradle comfort, and you press your face against the tentacle as it carries you along.

All at once, it lets you go. Now, _you_ are not so quick to release, your arms and legs locked. The tip presses against your shoulder, and pretty much peels you off, more and more force until you submit to being dislodged.

You are… above the reef. And below the Bubble, drawn deeper into the ocean and onto its side. It would be terrible, but there are thick ropes of pitch goth black slapped along it like tethers.

The Queenarch Rose is half upside down. One of her great hands is thrust deep into the reef, disturbing fish and flora that darts to escape the impact. With all the colors shifting and glowing, they bounce off her skin in a way that makes her seem opalescent.

Her eyes are on you, and her face is grave. When her lips move, you-- you don't hear anything.

Desperate, you waggle a hand at your head. "Gone! They took them out! Can't hear a blasted thing!"

Comprehension dawns. She crooks a finger at you, and all her half-invisible filaments redirect and turn to you like a sunflower towards the sky.

Kicking, pulling yourself along with your webbed hands, you push yourself into them. Shutting your eyes, you duck your head as they all make contact with your skin, and each curls to draw you in closer, more touching you.

The voice isn't sound. It's in you.

You are injured, she says.

You lift a hand, pulling against the many groping fiber optic strands, to seesaw your hand. "Eeh, yeah. They ripped out my caps. I think it messed with my brain a bit?"

We will replace them and heal the damage. Jake. One chord runs from your forehead back through your hair in a long stroke. I apologize for putting you in this position. I thought The Plan was foolproof. You recognize the sensation of her leafing through your thoughts. You remember the blind troll on the spaceport platform. Oh. I see.

"Bit of an oversight," you say, none too gently. Sure she's Queenarch, but also: come on.

With you on the line. I'm sorry. Sometimes my desire for complexity overrules my judgement.

She is grappling with the largest building in the COO and dragging it down through sheer force. This, you think, is _much_ better than _Mission: Impossible._

Yes. We should have gone with this plan to begin with. After all, I am very large.

The Queenarch is quite enormous. It's hard not to marvel at her majesty, both in appellation and in hugeness. But there is movement going on around you. The reef is a shockingly good camouflage, especially with the sun in the sky, painting everything almost too-bright. You want to shade your eyes as you pick out movement around you.

Rose herself is a monstrous dark creature, but around the COO are other People. Some you recognize from the previous mission you were on, others you don't know. You spin in the soma, and see them coming in from nearly every angle. So many different lights. Seathralls are bright and pushing against each other, some melding, some strangely _not_. But you are caught up in Rose's, and they pass right over you harmlessly, none of the suede chafing against your mind.

But everything in the reef reacts. Everything drops, lowers down, as if compelled to get the hell out of the way.

That's when you notice with everyone coming in, they are accompanied by glowing clouds that match their seathrall. It's a blur with the reef's bright lights, but you think… they are jellyfish. Small, and glowing.

This is about to become somewhat hectic. You should go meet up with Dirk.

Your attention rubber band snaps back to Rose. "Where is he? Is he here?"

Oh yes. She smiles, and it's nearly a grimace. He was quite insistent. You'll find him back in the _usual place._ Do you understand?

After a second of considering that, you do, and nod. Waving a hand, you nudge the thin filaments off you. They obligingly drop away.

With just a few left on your arm, you hear one more implanted command: I will have to make amends somehow, but for now, tell him he has my apologies.

"Sure thing," you tell her, and try to sort of bow to her in the water. It doesn't really work, but you also don't care.

As the circle around the COO closes and the ocean is disturbed by people tumbling out and down through the soma, you turn your back and swim away.

You reach the dark gash in the boundary of the reef with muscle memory alone. It's been a long time since you were here, but you remember it well. The creepy allure of it pulling you in, and how you seem to cross the threshold and are in a whole other world. The brightness is gone, and you paddle forward into the chasm.

Beelining for the right spot, you can see a faint amber glow over there. It spurs you on, kicking so hard your thighs twinge.

You start humming, and for the first in in a while, it's a bright tune. Like Dirk when he's at his table working away.

The amber pulses, and you swerve down, trying to reach for the glow. It illuminates your dark skin in interesting ways. Pretty.

Your handsome alien host isn't back in the corner with the old workshop. As you remember, that whole thing was dismantled. Instead, he's curled up in the sprays of gas-fire orange and blue, his tail looped around himself, sitting just a few feet in the tunnel.

His eyes are flashbulbs. He mouths something and stretches out his hand.

You slap yours in his grip, and like a dozen times before let him pull you closer. You land against his chest, and are immediately engulfed. Soft felty arms with tightly gripping hands fold around you, until you can feel the rich layers of his hum in your body, soaking in like sun. Settling in, you sit across a coil of his tail, working your fingers deep into his backfins, reveling in the buttery soft plumage. Dirk similarly puts his hand in your hair, petting and stroking as he holds you in place.

As if you're going anywhere.

Nuzzling is important. You spend a few moments doing that before lifting your head to look up at him. "Hey there, firedancer. Rose sends her apologies."

Dirk blinks, and lets out a sharp hum, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

Then, his lips move. You can feel the tone of his hum, but the words are still gone. You can't hear any of it.

"Shit. No, try again, I can't hear you," you tell him, cutting off whatever he's saying.

Dirk frowns, and speaks again.

"No, no, Dirk, come on. Do the glowy thing." You reach up, and stroke your hand along the spine of his crown, drawing two of them closer. "Come on."

Catching on, he cranks up the amber seathrall until it's just about all you can see, coloring the soma so vividly that his body not a foot away from you is just a dark blue outline. You open up for it, letting it soak in like water spreading through cloth, a saturation you've not felt in a while. It sinks down your spine and outward, all the way to your fingertips and toes.

That's much better. You shut your eyes, all topped up, and breathe.

Dirk's hand curls around your neck. His fingers are still startlingly long. It's funny to think he's so small for his kind, and yet.

He speaks, and you feel the shadow of the words, an inquiry, asking about you. But it's not _words_ and you grab his arms in a probably too-tight grip.

"I can't hear you. They took my jellycaps, I can't--" Your head hurts and you can't hear him, and this is all wrong. It's not fair, you did exactly what Rose wanted, it's not your fault it all fell apart.

Your breath hitches, and you just ache all over. Your legs and your head and your chest and throat. Everything is a tight vice and it's not fair. It all clamps too tight, and you choke out a soundless noise.

Turns out, you can cry subsoma. That's interesting. You suck in a gasp and let it out in juttering quarter-breaths as you try to hold on.

A thumb against the soft skin under your jaw forces your head back up. Dirk's expression is serious, contemplative. You are still outside your shaking half-sobs as he traces the medical band around your head. He lifts it a little, and you slap a hand around his wrist.

"Don't. Injured." You point a finger inward against your ear. "Ripped out."

Dirk's expression freezes for a second, like a calm patch in a storm. Then, his eyes shutter, his lips flatten, everything is just stone.

He repositions you, bodily shifting you around, until he can wrap one arm under your thighs and carry you against his chest. His tail whips outward in as wide of an arch as the tunnel allows, and he bursts off, working to swim fast, out of your little hiding space.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hang on for the ride. The flash of light when you exit the chasm is intense enough you squint. And…

The Bubble is submerged. The Queenarch is no longer wrapped around it. Instead, there is a group working on it, with two decently sized asdastirs. Two of the People swish and flutter around, guiding the big starfish arms of their steeds to attach along the smooth eggshell of the Bubble. You watch as the two asdastir pull forward, and the Bubble drags with them, away from the COO collective.

Which, by the by, is becoming less of a collective by the minute. Rose has switched to anchoring herself against the reef with both hands, her many legs (arms? tentacles, there.) kicked up like a can-can dancer. There are _three_ spheres in her grasp, pulled down out of the air and into the water. She twists and tilts them, forcing the lingering bubbles of air to escape.

Two of them are connected to the main thoroughfare bridges, and every sphere connected to _those_ begins sinking too. She was right: this plan is much better.

Dirk skirts the edge of all the to-do, moving with purpose in a wide arc. His head moves as he scans around, glancing at each person, checking their shape and their hue.

When he finds who he's look for, he flips and twists like a spinning ribbon, fast enough you tuck your head down to avoid getting dizzy. So often he slows down so you can keep up, seeing him moving in curves like a hammer throw is incredible.

He's moving so fast, to stop, he reaches out his arms and grabs hold of Roxy's tentacles. There is a pulse of surprised pink light, and her tentacles twist around Dirk's arms, spinning and dragging him in and to a halt.

You laugh softly, and twist around, back to Dirk's chest.

Roxy stares at you both, face splitting in a grin. She says something, humming cheerfully, and like everyone else apparently does now, strokes your hair.

Dirk says some things, and runs a finger along your medical band. Whatever he's saying-- explanation probably-- makes her go more and more grim.

You are distracted by a huge splash nearby. The Queenarch taking another building down, rolling it across two tentacles like a ball. The bridge is submerged enough you see the moment the tension releases, some emergency mechanism going off and letting the bridge go. It floats back up to the surface as Rose pushes the sphere flat to the reef bed. As she holds it in place, the inhabitants swim out through the open doorway.

They don't get far before slowing, caught in a seathrall as the People swoop in.

Roxy tap-taps your forehead, yanking your attention back to her. She takes you from Dirk, tugs you into the soma between them.

There is something wrapped around her chest. It's a tight slung sash, from her shoulder and around her chest, and circling her hips like a belt. The material is immediately familiar to you, that annoying horrible sticky gel stuff. All along the sash-belt combo are stuck things. Spheres holding more little jellyfish, tools, even some containers of stuff, like half of a lab attached to her body.

She removes a sharp coral blade and braces your head in one big hand. Your own twitches upward to stop her, but Dirk takes gentle hold of your wrists and hums.

Okay. You can do this.

First, she cuts through the band and removes it, tossing it aside with a careless flick of her hand. The pressure is gone, and the pads over your ears drift away on their own.

Soma insinuates into the space, and your mouth opens as it starts to tingle and sting.

Roxy slaps her knife back into place and pulls two more items loose: a soft anemone-thing on a long stick and a clamshell box. Flicking the latter open with her thumb, she dabs the tendril-head stick in the muck inside. Whatever it is, it's a lurid lime green color, and coats the tendrils.

Then, she slaps the box back in place. She takes your wrists from Dirk with two tentacles, and he takes hold of your head with both hands.

His fingers fold over your eyes, and you let out an honest sigh of relief. You feel it as Roxy… does something with the tendril stick and the muck she's put on it and your ears, but both of them are humming. It's nearly a melody, sweet and overlapping until you would imagine the soma itself vibrating along. It makes your skin tingle and the ache in your chest ease between each heartbeat.

When she's done with both ears, Dirk lets go of you. Roxy does a tiny trick, flipping you around by twirling you under one of her tentacles, like a dancer.

She hands Dirk a capsule. He pops it open, the substance of the thing disintegrating into the soma. Plucking up the two little jellyfish inside, he fills them with his amber color before lifting them to your head.

This part you know. Shutting your eyes, you let your head loll, chin against your chest, as Dirk braces the heels of his hands against your cheeks. A fluttery feeling tickles around your ear, and you fight to keep still.

Both at once feels twice as weird, as the jellies' feathery arms are coaxed into your ears. They slide slickly against the extra stuff in there, which feels about as pleasant as stepping barefoot on a pad of butter, but the numbness comes in short order, and you don't have to deal with the horrible sensation anymore.

The pain drips out of you like through a sieve. You give your head a little shake, as if that'll hurry it along.

When you're done squirming around, Roxy lets you go. Dirk floats before you, watching expectantly.

"Hello," you say, and you _hear it, thank shitting hell, you hear it_. It's not perfect, like through a muffle of cotton, but you'll take it.

Dirk tilts his head. "Wait, you talk?"

Your mouth opens in outrage, and you shove him. The laugh you knock out of him is positively delighted, and he beams like a ray of sun as he weaves his way back to you, cupping your face and kissing your forehead.

"You ass," you tell him, pursing your lips and making the _mwah_ noise back at him.

Behind you, Roxy presses in, wrapping her long arms around both you and Dirk. "Aw, cute! Dirk, you smiled! Hang on, I brought some dust with me, I can bubble this up."

"Don't you dare," Dirk tells her, and permits the hug for a moment. Then, grouphug time is clearly over, and he pets your arms. "Are you okay?"

"Am now," you tell him. "But that whole rendezvous with the invaders did not go according to, well."

"Yeah, the fucking _Plan_." He grimaces.

"Rose said to convey her apologies to you."

"Yeah, and uh." Roxy clears her throat. You put a hand on Dirk's arm, bracing to turn around. He immediately takes the opportunity to settle you against his chest again, one arm under your thighs. "I already said this to Dirk a bunch, but sorry, Jakepode. Rose and me, we get…" She flutters her hands this way and that, tentacles curling and unfurling anxiously.

"Into a complete mental entwine with each other," Dirk offers up.

"Dirk, gross," Roxy says, rolling her eyes. "But yeah, we were caught up with all these totally great ideas of using you to dismantle the invaders from inside, and like…" She flings an arm out, and you all turn to watch Rose pull out humans and trolls from one of the COO spheres, handing them off, docile and still, to the People around her.

"Yeah," Dirk agrees, also sounding a little awed.

The invaders are tugged along by the People. There are clouds of little jellycap fellows everywhere, floating along. You watch as one eel-tailed person pulls two jellies out of the soma around them, and installs them right onto a troll.

The troll's eyes shut peaceably, and they seem to go to sleep.

"Anyway," Roxy says. "Let me get back to it. We got to start moving things. Once the domina knows she's lost contact with this colony, she'll probably send down, the… shuttle? Shuttle. Flying thing." She soars a hand through the soma. "We need this place cleared before that."

By now, the Bubble is off in the distance, still being dragged away. More steeds of various sizes are attaching to other buildings, gearing up.

"Are you… _taking the COO_?" you ask.

"Uuuuh, yeah, totally. We learned a whale of an amount of shit from you, Jake, no doubt, but this is, like. A legit alien science outpost!" She claps her hands together and bumps her shoulders up and down, a little happy jig. "Whole new fields of science! Experts in a bunch of those fields! Big-- big invader bubblestrings, the-- the data bank bubbles! Gonna be great! All the _Plans._ "

Dirk sighs. "Yeah. Anyway."

Roxy lets out a _pfft_ and waves you both off. "Take your pet home, you big sulky jerk. We'll be right behind you."

 _Home_ , you think vividly, and feel your whole body perk up.

Roxy waves goodbye before flipping backwards, away from you, shuttling herself into the mess of confused invaders and sinking buildings. The commotion is already lessening as Rose seems to work out a good system of submerge then jellycap then tow away. It's efficient.

You knock your hand against Dirk's chest. "They'll… be alright?"

He nods. "Yeah. Just putting them to sleep so they can be safely moved back." With his free hand, he points.

There's one of the gigaovikopos nearby, wearing a harness that runs down most of its body. It has straps of that sticky bullshit, and the People take their time attaching bound, sleeping invaders to it.

"Glad I'm not going that way," you mutter. "Hate that stuff."

"It's absurdly fucking useful, but yeah, fair enough." He hitches you closer to his chest. You obligingly hold onto his shoulder as he swims away. "Let's, hm. Swimming back is going to be a laborious trek, and I'm not feeling it, honestly. Unless you want to… sightsee or something? Alien tourism. You like that."

"No," you sigh, and press your cheek against him. "Sort of tired. Really hungry. Did you bring Snug?"

Dirk's lips twitch. "Rose carried me. That was a whole situation. Tell you about it on the way back. Let's ride with one of the asdastirs."

There's a team preparing for the journey back to Isaura, holding a medium-sized COO sphere between them. In no time, Dirk flags them down, and tucks the two of you inside the sphere. It's all screwy and turned upside down, and like before you get to sit against a window again.

From here, with Dirk stretching out next to you, his long body contouring to the curve of the building, you don't mind a little tourism. One hand pressed against the glass, you watch it as Paleraphon flies beneath you, like a shuttle flight back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so concludes the main part of this....... very strange story. it was NOT supposed to run this many words, goddamn.
> 
> i am being _viciously_ peer-pressured into writing an epilogue. people want their oviposition. i'm being ruthlessly typecasted, it's horrible. so, hit Subscribe maybe, so you'll get an update on the future of the People and their new companions, Jake's future as a chromatir trainer, new body mods, more of Rose being NONE MORE GOTH, and other stories.
> 
> thanks for humoring me. i promise the next thing won't be as weird. statistically speaking, it almost can't be.
> 
> (TWYCC coda? TWYCC coda)


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